


The Broom Bearing Baggins of Bag End

by Wynni



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Humor, Romance, Southern Sass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:19:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 55,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynni/pseuds/Wynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beryl Baggins was not looking for an adventure, had no need of an adventure, and had no problem telling thirteen dwarves and that confusticating wizard what they could do with their offer of an adventure until they dropped a humdinger of a surprise on her.</p><p>This madness started as a oneshot to show precisely how a 'feisty female' would react to pesky home invaders. As you can see, it did not stay a oneshot. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Batter Up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broom Baggins hasn't got time for Wizards or their madcap adventures.
> 
> Picture provided by the lovely Emilyaeren. She has a gallery on Deviantart you simply must visit. Emilyaeren.deviantart.com

Broom Bearing Baggins of Bag End  
by Wynnifredd, Apr 18, 2015, 9:04:57 PM  
Literature / Fan Fiction / Humor

Beryl Baggins was nobody’s fool. That daft wizard was up to something, and she certainly knew he wasn’t giving up just because she said no. What did he mean, asking her on an adventure? She had responsibilities right here that needed tending. People depended on her. Still, it made her wonder what his next move would be. It was sure to be an eye opener. Gandalf the Grey was not known for subtlety.

By dinnertime, she knew. She was mildly irritated by dwarf number one, a big, bald lumbering brute that seemed to barely comprehend speech. By dwarf two, she was sorely irritated, but when those two scamps showed up on her porch, it was time for action. Beryl grabbed her trusty broom. 

The immaculate white haired dwarf quickly saw which way the wind was blowing and beat a hasty retreat for the door. The two scamps yelped rather satisfactorily, while the brute roared his approval of her daring, even as he laughed himself out her front door.

“My dear Beryl Baggins, whatever is the matter?” He wasn’t a wizard for nothing. Gandalf appeared as if out of thin air. She was sure though, he had picked a good vantage to watch the unfurling farce. He didn’t show himself until twelve dwarves were stymied at her front door by broom. The laughter under his voice was proof enough.

“Master Gandalf, I can assume you have something to do with this unruly bunch descending upon my house?” Her boiling brown eyes stabbed at his usual grey shrouded self assurance, but caused no visible consternation she could see.

“I did, my dear. I had hoped to show them the wonders of hobbit hospitality.” He stroked his long beard thoughtfully, cocking a bushy eyebrow at her in reproach. It met with no visible success, either. Long friendships had their advantages.

“Well, hobbit hospitality is much easier to render when one knows they’re coming, AND said guests have the sense to respect the host’s home.” A few of the perpetrators that had actually made it in had the decency to look abashed. Certain dwarves would be cleaning her front hallway before they sat down to supper, AND her mother’s sewing kit they’d used to scrape off their muddy boots.

“Now, that being understood, it’s easy to see you chaps have traveled a ways. Clean your boots there on the hedgehog scraper, and I’ll round you up a proper meal, IF you boys will behave yourselves.” Now that her anger had abated a bit, she took in their bedraggled and somewhat road weary appearance, causing her conscience to twinge. “You look like you could do with a proper bed rest to boot.”

Thorin could not believe his eyes. The directions he’d been given were fairly worthless. The number of hillside homes, round green doors, and ‘mighty oaks’ were mind numbing in the Shire. However, there was no mistaking a company of dwarves being held at bay by one hobbit lass, forcing each and every one to scrape their boots at broom point. Seeing the mighty Dwalin bend to the tiny termagant was enough to wonder if Gandalf might actually know what he was about. He had fully expected his brash dwarves to utterly cow the gentle little hobbit. He sat a long while astride his pony, chuckling at the unlikely sight.

Her hallway and kit had been dutifully restored while she laid the table out the first time. By the fifth time she reloaded the table, Beryl was amazed to have found appetites to rival the hungriest of hobbits. Dwarves did not have stomachs. They had bottomless pits. Beryl’s patience and energy were flagging by the sixth reload. 

As she finally sagged against a wall in unadmitted defeat, a young dwarf with a shy demeanor came to her. “Excuse me, Miss, but what should I do with my plate?”

“Oi, we’re handling that. Mistress Baggins, why don’t you take a seat while we tend cleanup?” The blonde scamp suggested with mischief twinkling in cobalt blue eyes. 

“Aye, ye’ve fair tuckered yourself out. We’ll handle cleanup, why don’t you take a seat here by the fire with Gandalf, while we show our appreciation?” A dwarf with a lilting cadence and the most ridiculous hat maneuvered her into the comfy chair by the fire, where Gandalf rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. 

“Do I want to know what they’re doing in my kitchen?”

“Probably not. They feel they owe you on two accounts, and are quite possibly settling them in the only way they may.”

Just then Beryl heard the most horrid metallic screech. “Mercy above, please don’t let that be what it sounds like. I had a time of it getting my knives sharpened properly the last time they were blunted.”

Then the song started. Beryl watched her dishes sailing past the door, mischief and devilish grins alight on young faces hurtling her fine dinnerware like jugglers’ balls down the hall to the kitchen.

Several times she tried to get up, and each time, the wizard’s heavy hand stopped her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she could accomplish did she make it to her feet, except to think by the end of it, she’d need a new broom.

Finally the wizard let her up, as the song wound to a close, and Beryl marched into her kitchen to find it spotless. Dwarvish laughter surrounded her as her dropped jaw and wide eyes made it clear they’d managed to gull her. “ Oh, you, you!” Beryl sputtered incoherently to silence, and finally caught her breath. A small smile fought its way clear to grace her face. “Well done, you rascals. Well done.” Which only made them roar even louder with laughter. In fact, they were so loud, they almost missed the knock at the door.

“He’s here.” Beryl bustled off towards the door. She wondered who “He” was that would have Gandalf of all people talking in hushed tones. “He” who?

Oh indeedy, “he” who! He had to be the most resplendent thing Beryl ever laid eyes on. A mane of coal black hair surrounded a strong face with fine patrician features. Blue eyes to put the blonde scamp’s to shame regarded her thoughtfully as he studied her. “Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. Were it not for our hostess here holding the company at bay, I might never have found it.” Beryl was so busy blushing, she almost missed the small smile that graced his mouth.

“Thorin Oakenshield, allow me to introduce our hostess, Miss Beryl Baggins. Miss Baggins, this is the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield.”


	2. A Dragon Ain't Gin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl finds out exactly what the adventure is that Gandalf has lined up for her and doesn't care for it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image found on pinterest, so not sure who to credit. If you know, comment or message me so I can attribute appropriately. It's gorgeous.

Apr 24, 2015, 6:17:26 AM

Beryl was self aware enough to realize this one intimidated her no little bit. However, the second he strutted into her home as if he owned it, her dander was up and running. Her shoulders squared, her chin came up, and her fingers twitched for her broom. Several dwarves backed away. Whether to get out of the battle zone or to claim a better view, not even Gandalf could say. Beryl figured possibly both.

“So, you’re the hobbit.”

“And you’re a dwarf. Now that’s settled, what of it?” Beryl crossed her arms over her chest. Unfortunately, this drew attention where she didn’t want it, so settled for putting her fists on her hips.

All that blasted dwarf did was cock an eyebrow and smile at her as he twirled his heavy cloak off onto a hook near the door. “You’re spirited, I’ll give you that, but are you battle ready? Axe or sword?”

Bofur, of the ridiculous hat, couldn’t resist. “Well, she’s right handy with a broom. I can tell ye that.” The laughter and aye’s that drew had Beryl blushing to her roots.

“A broom, do you think a broom would do against orcs or trolls?” The maddening dwarf dared cock a supercilious brow at her. She returned the favor, which the arrogant git seemed to find humorous. She just couldn’t help herself, her mouth ran off with her.

“Well, it held off twelve dwarves right well enough.” The quick answer had the dwarves roaring in mirth. Thorin gave the young woman in front of him a more thorough onceover . Her head was crowned with wild brown curls valiantly escaping the severe bun she’d tried to tame them. Bright brown eyes regarded him with no fear. She had the straightest brows he’d ever seen, and unlike most hobbits a long, high bridged nose. The generous mouth though, that was typical of most hobbits he’d seen, along with the plump cheeks. The stubborn chin and scowl were unexpected. She was shaping up to be full of surprises. He couldn’t help thinking again that she might do for this venture after all. Her clothes were nothing less than one would expect of a well bred hobbit of means: full sleeved, pristine white shirt; ladylike wool waistcoat in deep blue, and full peach colored skirts. They were modest, well tailored, and without a single bow or frippery. They spoke of comfort, breeding, and a mind boggling practicality.

Beryl had enough of standing in hallways, and didn’t care for his calculating appraisal. “Look, we can spend the rest of the night here trading barbs, or you can go seat yourself at the table while I heat up a meal for you. Coming?” Thorin could only bow to his hostess and follow her lead.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

Never did Beryl think the day would come she’d have to escape her own hobbit hole, but escape she needed, and there was no place like her garden when in this much turmoil.

A Dragon!

Gandalf thought she, of all people, was fit to take on a dragon. That opinion was a bit much even for her to swallow. What was that wizard thinking? Beryl threw her arms over the garden railing, letting the soft night air soothe her roiling thoughts.

“Is this the same hobbit that chased four dwarves, including the mighty Dwalin, from her home with a mere broom? I never thought I’d see you run from battle, Lady.” Beryl raised her head from her folded arms to see merry blue eyes and dashing dimples smiling at her from the shadows. She so did not need the blonde scamp cajoling her now.

“I’m regrouping. Finding out your friend since childhood wants to feed you to a dragon with a helping of dwarves on the side is a bit much to take in all at once.” Chuckling softly, the blonde dwarf joined her against the fence rail.

“That sounds more like. I didn’t know what to make of the defeated lass of a minute ago.” The dwarf casually drew out his pipe, filling, tamping, and lighting it. He drew in deeply, and let the smoke float out over the bucolic serenity spread before them in the moonlight.

“Defeated? Hah! Twas but a momentary overwhelming.” That knowing, smirking glance deflated Beryl on the spot. She laid her head back down on her folded arms, letting it take her full weight. “Alright, so I still feel overwhelmed. Ask me to solve a centuries long feud between two hardheaded old curmudgeons? Yes, I can do that. Ask me to balance the church budget while managing my own family? Yes, I can do that. Organize the family reunion right after juggling the Spring Market Fair the week prior? I can do that.

“but take on a dragon that decimated two peoples? I don’t know. It’s so outside of anything I ever imagined having to handle, I just….don’t know.” Beryl hung there over the rail like washing left on the line. Her companion patted her back in sympathy.

“Gandalf believes you are the only one capable of giving this venture hope. If a wizard believes you can do it, who are you to doubt yourself?”

“The one person that knows me better than the wizard?” Again that soft chuckle. Beryl felt it caress her nerves, soothing their frazzled edges better than the soft scents of her flowers. Beryl took quick stock of herself.

“Now, I know I can get you lot there. I know how to plan a trip, plan for any emergency, but dealing with a dragon? What experience could I compare that to? I don’t know the first thing about dragons, and all that talk about sneaking and burgling! I’ve never!”

“Gandalf did mention you never lost a game of hide and seek. There was also something about Old Bristlemyer’s gin…” the sputtering indignation was well worth the blow to his shoulder. The young dwarf was set laughing again.

“I was returning it! That daft cousin of mine, Paladin, thought it’d be a lark to try it for himself. I was trying to keep that plonker out of trouble.” For good measure, Beryl gave him one more good shove in the shoulder, nearly tumping him over. “I also got caught. Hardly proof I’d succeed against a dragon.”

“Ah, but how many times did you not get caught?” Again, moonlight caught dimples winking in the dark, nearly a match for the silver clasps winking in his braided mustache. Beryl’d never seen its like. Who braids a mustache?

She raised her head, squinting at him in the moonlight. “Alright, I’m not going to keep calling you ‘Blonde Scamp.’ Which one are you?” He guffawed so hard, she worried he’d lose his place on the rail. It was a nasty fall over the side of her hill.

“Is that what you’ve been calling me?” Did nothing spoil this one’s humor?

“It’s nicer than some of the others.” The dry tone did not escape unnoticed.

“I can imagine. Fili, son of Dis, sisterson to Thorin Oakenshield.” He waited.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” There it was.


	3. I'm a What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf drops a bomb on the Company and Beryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image found on Deviantart by DarkTristania  
> She has lovely stuff, well worth a visit.

Broom Bearing Baggins III: I'm a What?  
Apr 26, 2015, 11:20:37 PM

Whatever else she might have been about to say was interrupted by the low rumbling sound of music mixed with dwarfish singing. Beryl whirled as if stung. She knew that tune. How did the dwarves know it?

“Fili? Why are they singing my great gran’s lullabye?” Honestly confused brown eyes regarded Fili steadily, expecting him to solve the mystery.

“You must be joking, that’s the Lament of Erebor.” A perfectly round smoke ring floated lazily on the night breeze, as if dancing slowly to the music rolling out of her hobbit hole in wide melodic waves.

“The what?” 

Fili sang to her. His low, velvet voice blending with the instruments wafting from her home into a spell all its own. It wove a tale of the greatness that was Erebor. It sang of the metals and magic and beauty crafted there under the mountain. It sang of life in the mountain: the laughter, triumphs and tragedies, all brought crashing down by the greed of a dragon, sweeping away kith and kin just to claim the riches won from the earth by Dwarfish sweat and skill.

His song spoke to Beryl as nothing else ever had. She wanted to feel the metal take shape under her hammer, to walk the deep paths of Erebor, and win back the mountain from a greedy dragon that had no business stealing it in the first place.

For a moment, Beryl wanted to be a heroine. She wanted to stand victorious over the dragon, earn the dwarves gratitude for winning back their mountain, hear the songs and tales sung of her bravery. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye, and then somewhere off in the distance, a cow lowed, and she was just plain Beryl Baggins again, who had a Ladies Committee tomorrow and no time to run off with dwarves after dragons or mountains. She was very glad for the rail’s support just then. She felt wrung out and confused.

“You look like you could use a sit down, and probably some tea.” Fili carefully tapped the ashes out of his pipe, and tucked the thing back in his furry jacket. The other hand was already gently turning Beryl around to escort her back into her own house. The irony was not lost on her.

“Fili, I do know the way in to my own home.”

“Yes, but how often do you think I’ll offer to play gentleman? Allow me this once?”

“Alright, you blonde scamp.”

“Some evening, I might just ask you what you named everyone.”

“Fine, and I’ll answer. Right now, I want to know why Gran’s lullaby's the same tune as that Lament.”

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

“Really, Beryl, you can’t guess?” Gandalf took his ease in the wide armchair by the fire. His pipe occasionally adding smoke rings to those already wreathing his head. Thorin leaned against the mantle, arms folded as he regarded her with calculating eyes. The rest of the dwarves arranged themselves comfortably around her den, watching the discussion as if it were for their entertainment.

“Humor me. Why are the tunes the same.” Beryl never took her eyes off Gandalf. She was about done with surprises and word games. She wanted answers.

“How familiar are you with your family history on the Took side?” Gandalf asked the question without much inflection, exactly as if asking no more than how the current crops might grow this summer.

“There were tales the First Took had a fairy wife, and every gather, Granther trots out the tale of Bullroarer Took. That’s about it.” Beryl’s patience was growing thin. Gandalf’s need for showmanship was starting to wear out its welcome.

“Refresh my memory about Bullroarer, if you please.” She had to take a deep breath to keep her composure.

“Well, he was big, so big he could ride a proper horse. He fought in the Battle of Green Fields and knocked a goblin chief’s head clear off his shoulders.”

“Does that sound very hobbitish, to you, Beryl Baggins?” Suddenly, it wasn’t just Gandalf’s sharp eyes regarding her, but every dwarf in the room. It made her uncomfortable.

“Sounds almost like a dwarf.” Bofur was carelessly twirling his clarinet. His insightful comment spoken as if to the instrument in his hands.

“Dwarf or no, I’d drink with him.” Was that approval from stolid Dwalin? Beryl thought she might have to mark the calendar.

“Very Dwarvish indeed, Bofur.” Gandalf’s keen gaze, if possible, became even sharper. Beryl felt the bottom of her belly drop out. He couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting.

“Bother and befuddlement, First Took didn’t marry a fairy…” Beryl couldn’t finish, not with thirteen of them watching her like a bug under glass.

“No indeed. He married a dwarf.” Gandalf said it calmly, as if passing the time of day.

The uproar was instantaneous. Apparently, the idea a Dwarf maid would even dream of marrying outside her people was enough to incite violence. Had anyone but Gandalf said those words, he may not have escaped unscathed. But it was Gandalf that said them, and Gandalf did not lie.

“Beryl, would you sing your lullabye for these gentlemen? Perhaps that might put to rest the last of their objections.”

Fili, having some idea of what was coming, limbered up his bow and fiddle for her, offering accompaniment. Beryl nervously stood, feeling much like a young hobbit at her first recital, and sang as her Gran had sung it to her.

_Far over, the Misty Mountains roam_  
To a Hill, I’ll call my own  
and there I’ll stay, for all my days  
and will there make my home 

_The stars were shining in the night,_  
and the moon, offered pale light  
no more to say, i must away  
No way left to make this right 

“No..” The immaculate white haired dwarf, that Beryl had learned was Balin, looked as if all the breath had been knocked out of him.

“The Exile’s song.” Ori, the small and shy dwarf, breathed the words as if he could barely believe them, and stared at her with wide eyes. Beryl felt the temperature in the room drop ten degrees, and felt horribly vulnerable. She felt her fingers twitch again for her trusty broom.

Gloin, the least pleasant of the bunch, said something rude sounding in their language and stalked out of the room.

“Anyone care to explain all this to me?” Thorin would not look at her, he glared resolutely into the hearth, as if the answer to all his woes were hidden in the dancing flames. All the other dwarves were in various states of surprise, disbelief, and discomfort. None would meet her gaze or answer her question.

“Lass, your ancestor was one of the Exiles.” Oin finally said, as if it cleared everything up.

“Okay, that still tells me nothing.” Beryl waited patiently for edification. She cut her eyes quickly to the wizard. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in the dwarves’ discomfiture. She always knew he had a devilish streak. She took this turn of events as proof positive.

“One of the Great Houses of Moria, their patriarch made a bid for the High Seat, and lost. They were exiled, not long before Moria fell to darkness.” Balin’s voice sounded heavy, as if each word took great effort to get past his mouth.

“and that means?” Honestly, how long were they going to draw out the suspense? When did this turn into a penny farce? Beryl’s patience was dangling by a mere thread at this point.

“Congratulations, Lass, yer a Dwarven princess.” Bless you Dwalin, for being a blunt one was the last thought Beryl had before her consciousness decided to take a break from the crazy.

**A/N: Did I lose you with this chapter? I promise, I only went where Tolkien's clues and the story monkey made me go. Buckle up, me hearties, cause the ride's only gonna get wilder from here.**


	4. Proposal and Counterproposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company gets the show on the road, and Balin isn't comfortable with an unattached female traveling without a proper chaperone.

Apr 28, 2015, 7:31:48 PM

As her pony trudged along behind Balin’s, Beryl had plenty of time to reconsider just exactly how she wound up in this circus. The answer could be boiled down to one unmistakable fact. Gandalf was a rotten cheat. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist digging up everything she could about this new facet of her heritage, and he knew the only answers lay with the dwarves. Which meant she had to go with them, or leave her curiosity to run wild.

All those Old Wives had it wrong. It wasn’t just curiosity that killed the cat, but unfulfilled curiosity. Beryl had no intentions of ever being a dead cat. Except, she could not understand why she had fainted. That was one curiosity she had no way to satisfy. It wasn’t like her. It mortified her no end that the first and only time she ever fainted was in front of those pesky dwarves.

Why then? Why, when it seemed she had the most to prove, did her stamina have to let her down in such a dramatic way?

She still couldn’t tell whether Thorin’s snarky smirk or Dori’s smothering attention was more mortifying. If poor sweet Ori had to deal with that on a regular basis, she truly sympathized with his plight. Old Mother Bracegirdle could take lessons from Dori. Mother hens could take lessons from Dori, truth be told. He had cosseted her to within an inch of her life, and she’d have been happy to return the favor, but her broom had mysteriously disappeared while she was unconscious. She had a feeling that sneaky devil Nori had a hand in that.

No, the biggest mindboggler was yet to come. Once she’d finally won free of the nineteen blankets Dori had wrapped around her, and demanded to go with the Company, whether they wanted her or not, Balin had approached her.

“Lassie, you do realize you’ll be traveling in the company of thirteen dwarves.” Balin struck her as a normally fairly self assured dwarf. Now, he was acting very hesitant. It didn’t sit well. She wondered what subject he could be trying to broach that would cause him that much discomfort.

“Yes, I had noticed.” Beryl kept her answers as neutral as possible, wondering where the verbal pitfall was, and continued to pack her bags for the trip.

“And you are an unattached young Lady.”

“Yes, I was aware of that as well.” She really didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. It sounded very like when Lobelia was making her case for why Beryl should marry her boy. Just the memory of that dough faced clod made Beryl shudder. Not only was her son personally offensive, but she didn’t approve of cousins marrying, even if they were third degree.

“Then are you also aware of how unseemly it is for a young lady of breeding to go on such a venture unchaperoned.” Balin had both hands behind him, rocking on the balls of his feet in a manner much like a barrister making a case. 

“Balin, say what you mean plainly, please?” Beryl cracked her back as she straightened up from packing her bag, stretching out the kinks. Balin took a deep breath and finally got to the point.

“I would offer the protection of my name, lass, to spare your reputation.” Beryl, even half expecting it, still felt poleaxed. She took a deep breath, and then another, scrambling to put her thoughts in order.

Beryl swallowed her knee jerk reply. She had to remind herself Balin meant well. She reminded herself again for good measure, before opening her mouth. She did not want to offend him, but she wasn’t about to tie herself down now, either. If she could sidestep the matchmaking biddies of the Shire this long, she could sidestep this conundrum as well. She hoped. 

“Balin, I really don’t know how to reply to such kindness.” Beryl frantically searched her brain for words to politely refuse. 

“You could accept my suit, lass.” He reminded her gently. She could, only he made her think of her granther and great uncles with his gentle dignity and snow white hair. Shave that glossy beard, and he could be any number of her relations for which she had soft fuzzy feelings. Those feelings were totally inappropriate in regards to matrimony. 

If ever Beryl fell prey to that institution, it would not be for anything less than love, total, consuming, and unconditional romantic head-over-heels love. 

“Balin, I truly do appreciate what you’re offering, but I cannot in good conscience accept. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a proper wife, and you’ve no idea what you’d be saddling yourself with. Honestly, I like you too much to put you through that.” She offered him a friendly smile. “Whacking pesky dwarves with a broom is the least of my many faults.”

Balin nodded his head in a knowing manner, a soft depreciative smile shadowing his countenance. “Aye lass, I thought that might be your answer, but my honor insisted it be offered regardless.”

“Well, what says the only way you can see to your honor and my reputation is by marriage?” Balin cut his eyes sideways at the wily hobbit lass. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, while I might be a long lost princess” Beryl had a very hard time getting that out without choking on it. “Thorin is still King, is he not? Could he not appoint you my guardian? Then I’ll have a proper chaperone with all the niceties observed, and whatever reputation I have would be protected.” No need to mention she had precious little reputation left. She’d proudly earned the title ‘blue stocking’ ages ago, and no proper hobbit husband would have her now. That was fine, she’d never cared for the idea of a proper husband in the first place. She preferred deciding her fate for herself, meddling wizards notwithstanding.

Balin started to answer, then caught himself. Beryl could actually watch him think through what she proposed, and surprised himself by the outcome. The loveliest smile graced his face as he regarded her warmly.

“It so happens lass, your family were Longbeards before their Exile, and that would make you subject to Thorin’s rule. Aye, this will work nicely, lass. Well done.”

A few minutes with parchment and quill at her long table, a few words spoken by Thorin in front of the Company, and Beryl was once again saddled with a guardian. It was as if the past decade and a half she’d been her own mistress had never happened.

Before her mind could really sort through all the consequences, she felt a heavy hand land solidly on her shoulder. “Aye lass, glad to have you in the family, even if it’s as a niece instead of a bride.” Beryl’s head whipped around to regard the massive Dwalin behind her.

“Excuse me?” Did he just intimate what she thought he did?

“Don’t look so shocked. Any dwarf would be proud to call a woman that can hold her own as you did wife.” Her stunned expression made him laugh outright. “But I’ll be just as happy to call you niece. I have a feeling I’ll be busting heads on your behalf soon enough.”

So now, Beryl found herself on the road heading into Bree with a protective and gentlemanly guardian and a berserker uncle. 

She wondered what other surprises were in store for her.


	5. Bandits, Brawls, and Bindings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Bree is more exciting than they hoped.

Broom Baggins V  
by Wynnifredd, Apr 30, 2015, 2:58:37 PM

From her place behind Dwalin’s broad back, Beryl heartily wished for her broom. Bandits decided thirteen dwarves, an old man, and wee girl would be easy pickings. Said bandits were currently getting their collective backsides handed to them, but not before doing a fair amount of damage themselves. Bifur was sporting an arrow in his shoulder, Fili had one in his thigh, and poor Nori had one in his upper arm. Not a one of them seemed slowed by it, as they were all hip deep in the fight anyways. 

For Beryl’s part, she wanted to help, and thoroughly resented dwarves tossing her between them like a sack of feed and treating her like a helpless moppet. Go hang her new status as a lost dwarven princess! Hand her a broom….or quarterstaff. She could work with a quarterstaff. Dwalin was forced back a step from blocking a nasty mattock swung at his head, forcing Beryl into the brush on the side of the road. She tucked her head and rolled down the steep bank. Better to climb back up than risk a break trying to keep her footing on the treacherous slope.

She lay for a moment, waiting for the world to quit spinning quite so fast. Tired of watching the clouds twirling, she turned her head and spotted a downed sapling. Beryl quickly stripped the spindly branches and leaves from it, and headed back topside to the fray. Balin and Oin were fighting back to back, three ragged men surrounding them, but unable to get past their twirling blade and staff. Beryl stuck her sapling between the legs of one bandit, and watched him fall backwards. She quickly rapped him across the back of the head. He did not move again. 

“Lassie! What do you think you’re doing?” Since when could Balin roar? Beryl swallowed hard, and bellowed right back.

“Evening the odds! What else?” She ducked as her bellow caught the attention of one of the remaining bandits. She deftly avoided the rusty blade with a roll to the left, coming up quickly to her feet. She needn’t have bothered. Balin took the bandit down the moment his attention turned to her. Apparently, he was deadly serious about that guardianship.

“Get between us Lassie, now!” Balin and Oin moved to sandwich her, not giving her the opportunity to argue.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. I’m not helpless!”

“Then guard me back and quit yer yelpin!’” Oin once again had unwanted attention, and was busy blocking the twin blades of yet another bandit with his long staff. Beryl waited patiently, then tripped the bandit the moment his feet lined up for it. Oin cracked him in the head with his staff. One more bandit lay prone in the road.

“How many more are there?” Beryl was having a hard time seeing anything past Balin’s whirling blade and Oin’s twirling staff. The two dwarves seemed to be everywhere she was trying to look. Apparently, they decided the only way to keep her safe was to keep her sight line blocked, sneaky dwarves. 

“Plenty.” Balin was once again busy with two opponents. One of them carried a massive blacksmith’s hammer, and the other had what looked like a great sword. Beryl didn’t like those odds versus Balin’s longsword. Whether he’d ever admit it or not, Balin would need her help. Thankfully, one of them was very bad about stancing himself with a knee forward. It was like a billiard ball taunting a cue stick. She was never one to ignore a taunt. One good crack later, and a bandit was curled on the ground nursing a broken kneecap. Balin now only had one opponent. That great sword was still worrisome, though.

“A little help here, lassie.” Oin called over his shoulder. Whatever that was fighting him wasn’t human, or wasn’t purely human. It moved almost froglike and snarled like a wounded pig. It made Beryl shudder just to look at it. The thing managed to dive in between them, its attention still on Oin, so she clobbered it over the head, downing it as she had the other bandits. Oin spit on it. “Cursed goblin.”

“Goblin? Like Bullroarer fought?”

“Very same. Though why bandits would work with a goblin, I’ve no idea.” In the time it took Oin and Beryl to down the goblin, the rest of the fight was done. Bandits littered the road, some just unconscious, others didn’t bear closer scrutiny. She saw a few more of the Company were now nursing wounds. That greatsword had managed to get past Balin’s guard, and he now had a nasty cut across his chest. Bombur had a cut that still trickled into his eye, and Kili had his right arm folded tight against him. 

“What is this?” Thorin was now standing over them, nudging the prone goblin with one of his heavy boots.

“You’d know better than I would, Thorin. Oin called it a goblin.” She thumped her staff against the ground and leaned against it. The battle done, she was bone tired of a sudden.

“What would bandits be doing allying themselves with goblins?” Fili was now nursing his wounded thigh, the protection adrenaline had afforded him during battle having left him, he was now limping and in pain.

“Well, one things for certain. We’ll get no answers standing here in the road, and we’ve wounded that need tending.” It was amazing how well Oin could hear when it mattered. Arrow shafts were removed and wounds bound. Beryl found herself sacrificing a few petticoats to help with the binding. It would do no good to head to Bree if a dwarf fell off his pony before they got there from blood loss. It wasn’t as if she minded greatly. She didn’t see much petticoat wearing in her near future. 

And oh, wasn’t that fun, when she first came out in her sensible trousers? Dori nearly had heart palpitations then and there. She watched several of the dwarves cover their mouths to stifle their laughter, when she calmly explained that trousers were much more suited to the trials ahead. She did pack a few pretties, just to soothe his wounded sensibilities, but the greater portion was devoted to thick trousers and sensible shirts.

Beryl pulled the makeshift bandage tight around Kili’s slashed shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath, but didn’t complain. Beryl had to fight a smile. Silly tough acting dwarves, wouldn’t do to admit it hurts around a mere girl, now, would it? “There, I think that’ll hold till we can get to the healers in Bree.” She gently patted his back, well away from the wound site.

“Thank you. You were quite a sight yourself out there. Quite handy with a staff.” Kili was gingerly rolling his shoulder, testing its soreness and how well the bandage would hold. He cut a guarded look at Beryl, testing the waters verbally as carefully as his shoulder.

“Well, I had to have some way to keep my cousins in line, now, didn’t I?” Beryl gave him a small smile. “I told you I wouldn’t be a bother or useless weight.”

“You did at that. Tell me, is it true you refused a suit from Balin?” Now where the blimey blue blazes did that question come from? Beryl busied herself folding the remainder of the petticoat while she puzzled out an answer. She was sure they’d need bandages again before this trip was over.

“Now, why would you ask a question like that?” 

“To gauge my chances, should I make an offer.”


	6. Pokes, Spokes, and Dropsies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl's response to Kili, Gandalf and she have a heart to heart, and the Company finally reaches Bree.

Pokes, Spokes and Dropsies BBVI  
May 2, 2015, 6:30:08 PM

Beryl’s head came up so fast she felt the muscles of her neck protest. He wasn’t giving her that toothy grin that was so contagious, but that puppy eyed serious look. She felt a funny little flip in her belly, and her temper woke up. She might have been alright, if he’d been openly teasing, but no, he was pretending to be serious, playing with her feelings. How dare he!

Kili’s sense of self preservation was apparently working just fine. He started awkwardly crabbing back from her as fast as he wounded shoulder would allow at the first sign her temper went south. 

“I can’t help but wonder, Master Dwarf, what you and yours are playing at.” Beryl stalked him, tapping her sapling against her palm. “First I’m supposed to believe I’m some long lost dwarven princess, then an offer of marriage to protect my reputation, another because I’d dare take a broom to invaders in my home, and now you? Why? Because I won’t sit around waiting to be rescued. Or” Here she poked him in the stomach with her sapling. The muffled oof was thoroughly satisfying. “Or maybe a bunch of bored dwarves are seeing just how gullible the Hobbit is. Now which do you think is more likely?” She jabbed him again for good measure. “I mean it! No more dwarvish games, or so help me, I’ll need a new staff and you’ll be walking funny!” Beryl stormed off, leaving in her wake one very flummoxed Kili.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

“Beryl, you have looked like an approaching storm all day. Whatever is the matter?” Beryl looked over to the old wizard, his concern plainly visible. 

“I let my temper get the better of me. The dwarves have been having fun at my expense, and I finally snapped at Kili.”

“What have they been doing?” Hard to imagine the wizard had no clue, but Beryl took him at his word. She told him her thoughts on the whole princess thing and the three marriage offers so far. Gandalf took a long while answering, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe.

“What if, my fine hobbit, they were not making fun of you?” Gandalf chuckled to himself as Beryl froze in her saddle. He counted a full minute before she turned to look at him.

“And what, pray tell, is suddenly different now from the previous thirty some odd years of my life, Gandalf?” Beryl looked over her shoulder at the dwarves behind them. Fili and Kili had their heads close together. It was clear they were talking about something and Fili would occasionally glance in her direction. Dwalin seemed intent on what the two were on about, his and Balin’s ponies behind the two scamps in their caravan. Balin seemed amused by them. She idly wondered what that was all about, but turned her attention back to Gandalf. “I can’t imagine what has magically changed between now and before you and your dwarf infestation!” 

“Absolutely nothing has changed about you, Miss Baggins. What has changed is the expectations of the interested parties.” Gandalf seemed to be having fun playing the part of the cryptic advisor. 

“Would you please care to elaborate?”

“What makes a good wife to a dwarf is nothing like what makes a good wife to a hobbit.” Gandalf puffed contentedly. “I would think that would be plain enough.”

“So I’m every dwarf’s dream wife?” Derision dripped from every word. It was enough to make Gandalf wince slightly.

“Dream wife? I wouldn’t go that far, my dear Baggins. Balin truly was concerned for your reputation. I think your solution was a bigger relief to him than he’d care to admit aloud. Dwalin, well, there’s no telling with that one. You did impress him, but he hardly seems heartbroken.” Gandalf slid a careful glance over to Beryl, watching how she took his words. Beryl was deep in thought, considering what she learned.

“I think he just likes having another excuse to fight.” Beryl looked back over her shoulder. Fili and Kili still had their heads close together, and Dwalin resembled a looming thunderhead more and more. What could they discussing? Whatever it was, it looked like Dwalin was ready to finish it for them.

“There may be something to that estimation.” Gandalf turned to see what had caught her attention. He turned back around, busily puffing his pipe. Beryl’s eyebrows rose in high humor. Never let it be said the wizard had neither a sense of humor, or a panache for understatement. 

“And Kili?” Beryl studied the road ahead, not looking at the wizard nor behind her.

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t look like a dwarf whose heart’s been crushed.” Gandalf took his time answering. Maybe he was turning over what he knew about the dwarf before answering. “I think it far more likely to have been a spur of the moment offer, brought on by the fight and the perceived challenge you presented by turning down Balin.”

“What would a heart broken dwarf even look like?” 

“My dear Beryl, I hope you never know.” This time, Beryl didn’t notice Gandalf looking behind them to watch Fili’s eyes on her back.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

Between the exhaustion of the fight and the various battle wounds, Beryl thought it would be a fairly quiet ride the rest of the way into Bree. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The dwarves were in high fettle. The jokes, battle descriptions (sometimes with near disastrous reenactments), and laughter continued the whole way into town proper. 

Beryl was completely out of her element. She’d never been further from home than Buckland to visit family. Bree was a whole new world for her. She’d thought Gandalf had to be the tallest person ever, but here, there were people that were as tall or taller. For the first time, she felt small and insignificant. The dwarves had no such impediments. They were apparently used to Mannish villages, because they carried on talking and japing same as on the road. For once, Beryl envied them.

Thorin halted the company at the Town Square. Gandalf left Beryl’s side to ride up beside him. “Why have we stopped here?”

“I thought, once here, it’d be plain where the Healer’s Hall was located. Most towns have them near the square. None of these look right.” Thorin swayed slightly in his saddle. 

“Thorin!” Gandalf put a steadying hand to the dwarf’s shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine once we reach the Hall.”

“Luckily, I’ve been there before.” Gandalf, riding beside Thorin, guided them to a pleasant round timbered building just behind the Bree Town Hall. It was higher up the slope of a green rolling hill and gardens spread out all around it. Some looked like herb gardens, some held vegetables, but one looked to be purely for delight’s sake. It even contained a small gazebo drowning in climbing roses.

“You there, can you help us? We have wounded from a bandit encounter.” Gandalf hailed a small figure tending some rosemary.

“You will need to alert the guard. There are goblins amongst the bandits. They need to know.” With that final word, Thorin lost the battle with blood loss and fell off his pony at the feet of the reddest headed healer Beryl ever set eyes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest character Wren (the red headed healer) appears courtesy of kkolmakov (Katya Kolmakov). 
> 
> She is a fantastic writer with a story on AO3 called 'Fairy Wars' where you can see Puck!Thorin and Pixie!Wren figuring out the whole romance while saving their world from the evil goblin Smaug. The company, including the nephews, and plenty of Hobbit inspired hijinks are to be found there!
> 
> She has a wealth of established fanfiction at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4633889/
> 
> as well as her own writing on several other sites, many stories on which are inspired by her pairing of the OC, Wren, and many colorful versions of Thorin.
> 
> You can find her links on her blog: https://kolmakov.ca
> 
> And you can like and follow her writer's Facebook page : https://www.facebook.com/katyakolmakov
> 
> Seriously, this is the woman that got me writing again, give her a looksee!


	7. Midnight Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's gobsmacked in the best of ways, and plots are now afoot. Well, maybe more than one plot, at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Wren dialog and actions provided by the inestimable kkolmakov. If you've not checked her out, you're missing out. Just sayin'.  
> kolmakov.ca and fanfiction.net/~kkolmakov

May 5, 2015, 2:51:00 PM

The red headed healer, a tiny woman, fell to her knees, and quickly unbelted Thorin’s brigandine, searching for what caused him to drop. “I will need packing and bandages now!” The gambeson was especially thick, and the healer lost patience, simply slicing it open with her pruning knife. Each subsequent layer met the same fate until she could reach skin, and then searched for the seeping wound. 

Beryl was in motion the moment Thorin hit the ground, pulling free the petticoat remnant from her saddle bags. “Here, I’ve this handy.”

“Hold it there, while I search for any other injuries.” Beryl applied pressure with both hands across the shallow slash across his lower ribs. If he weren't already prone, she’d be tempted to kick his backside. The whole point in checking and binding on the road was to keep this from happening. He was certainly due a piece of her mind, once he woke up.

“That seems to be the only injury currently. We need to move him inside, where I can clean and treat the wound. Master Dwarves! Come help move him inside.” The healer had assessed the dwarves, noticing Dwalin and Dori among the uninjured and stoutest. The two moved dutifully forward, and gently picked up their leader. “Follow me, and careful not to jostle.”

They followed her into a large room, set with rows of clean beds fitted with snowy white linens. She waved them towards one near a corner, where a table was already laden with many of the necessities of a healer’s trade.

Beryl then saw the best imitation of a drill sergeant outside of a militia. The healer had dwarves running this way and that to collect hot water, collect more towels, bring this, that, and hold him still please, he is NOT going to like this.

She also managed to pick out who didn’t need to be running, and browbeat several recalcitrant dwarves into empty beds. Runners had fetched the other healers, who had left their dinner half eaten to come tend the influx of wounded. Soon each one had his own healer.

“Mistress Hobbit, how long has he been riding like this?” Beryl quickly joined the redhead. “Thank Maiar, you are a Hobbit, at least a wee bit less stubbornness.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that. You’ve not seen her with her broom.” Bofur, sitting next to Bifur, couldn't resist.

“At most, half a day. Will he recover?” Beryl answered as she’d been asked, staring daggers at Bofur who was suddenly busy translating for Bifur’s healer and not meeting Beryl’s gaze.

“I cannot say yet. Dwarves are sturdy, and that will help him. “ 

“Well, I’m no healer, but I’ve helped tend the sick before. I never met a healer that couldn’t use another pair of hands. Just put me to work. Beryl Baggins, at your service.” Beryl bobbed a small curtsy for the healer.

“Wren of Enedwaith, but I am afraid my services are going to be quite engaged with our stubborn dwarf here. If he has not contracted a fever by nightfall, I shall be very much surprised.”

Wren was not surprised. Beryl spent much of her time fetching cool water and more clothes and an herb from the garden that helped cool the skin. Thorin was restless and fitful. Toward midnight, he finally settled somewhat, though his fever still ran high. Wren did not leave his side, carefully monitoring his temperature, and ensuring he did not reopen his wound. Beryl gratefully took a seat nearest to her and Thorin in case she was needed. Fili seemed to be sleeping well, so wouldn’t mind her there. About the time she laid her head back against the wall, Thorin started muttering in Khuzdul.

“Well isn’t that interesting.” Beryl nearly came out of her chair. Fili wasn’t nearly as asleep as he’d pretended.

“What’s interesting?” Beryl rubbed the back of her head, she’d smacked it hard against the wall when she startled.

“Let’s simply say it’s probably for the best he’s talking in Khuzdul, or our fair healer there would be as red as her hair.”

“What?” Beryl turned to give the blond scamp her full attention. His eyes were bright and his color high, but not feverish. That had been a worry. The arrow lodged in his thigh had managed to scrape bone. She was doubly thankful Oin had decided to cut it out rather than push it through. Fili could have wound up lame at best or bled out at worst. It was still a bad enough worry he was being kept in here overnight with the rest of the injured. Only Bombur’s cut passed muster to be released. The rest of the injured found themselves overnighting in the infirmary. Kili was currently sulking himself to sleep in the next bed over. Butterbur’s ale was apparently worth aggravating an injured shoulder. 

Fili’s smile grew. “If I’m hearing him aright, my dear uncle is properly smitten with yon healer.”

“How does he even know? He seemed out of it since he hit the ground.” Beryl was confused. He’d never gained consciousness that she could tell.

“You’d be surprised.” Fili settled himself against the goose down pillows, both arms behind his head. “ We were traveling with a caravan once, and Bofur took a fever as we crossed a swampy patch. He seemed completely unaware. Yet, once recovered, repeated back to us every conversation we had while watching over him. From the things Uncle was saying, I’d say something similar happened with him.”

“Alright, maybe I can see that. Now, how stubborn is he going to be about it?” Beryl was once again leaned back against the wall, watching Wren tend Thorin. Right now, she was bathing his face with a damp cloth. 

“How do you mean?”

“If he’s as gobsmacked as all that, will he actually pursue a relationship with her, or get all ‘King Under the Mountainy’ about it, trying to deny it exists?” Beryl watched as Thorin caught Wren’s hand, and held it to his chest. “First I’ve seen him act this...feely.”

Fili laughed so hard he was wincing in pain. “I must remember even conversations with you come with their own perils.” He shifted his leg on its pillow. “I’ve never seen Uncle like this. I honestly don’t know.” He thoughtfully considered the two they were discussing. “I’ve been thinking. We’re not going to get this lucky again. What if we get this bunged up on the road, or Mahal preserve us, Oin gets injured? We need another healer.”

“Oooh, you devious thing, and if the extra healer happens to be her? Well, His Grumpiness will just about have to deal with it, won’t he?” Fili choked on his laughter, his face turning a darling shade of red Beryl had not yet witnessed.

“Oh aye, we definitely need a healer with hands soothing as spring rain, or curls like coppered gold.” Something in the flashing dimples warned Beryl someone was in a mood for further mischief, probably at her expense.

“What the deuce?” Beryl let her jaw drop. Who knew dwarves could wax poetic?

“Want to know what else Uncle thinks about her?” Half closed eyes and that smug grin gave the impression of a cat in a creamery.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.” Beryl folded her arms across her chest rather huffily. 

“Bright eyes that flash like morning sun, a ripe mouth that begs for kisses…”

Beryl turned a critical eye on her conversation partner, cutting him off midflattery. “Uh huh, and that’s all from Thorin’s delirium, is it?”

“More or less, it may be a bit of a loose translation.” 

Beryl snorted. “Go to sleep you numpty. We may or may not be moving out tomorrow, but you’ll need your rest all the same.”

“And you?’

“If necessary, I’ll sleep in the saddle.”


	8. Two Birds with One Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unintentional eavesdropping leads to intentional plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Wren and Britishisms courtesy of kkolmakov (because i can't british to save my soul).  
> kolmakov.ca and fanfiction.net/~kkolmakov
> 
> Did we mention we've started a Star Trek/Hobbit infused thing of madness? We've totally started a Hobbit infused Star Trek thing of madness.
> 
> So, if you like your Star Trek with a dash of Hobbit inspiration, please come check out Sunny Side Up.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7787173/chapters/17763799

May 6, 2015, 5:15:43 AM

Honestly, Beryl only meant to rest for just a minute in the bright sunshine and sweet scents of the garden. However, between the buzzing of bees and the lulling warmth of the sun Beryl was out cold within minutes. It took the rumble of voices waking her, well one voice rumbled, before Beryl realized she’d even fallen asleep.

“Your pardon, but it’s time to check your bandages, Master Dwarf.” The cool and collected voice could only belong to Wren.

“Thorin, Honorable Healer, it would please me if you called me Thorin.” Beryl bit her fist to stifle the giggles. Nobody was ever given first name privileges that fast. Fili was right. Dast him, now she owed him ten silver.

“Alright, Thorin. You are welcome to call me Wren.” There was a small pause. Beryl could imagine her gesturing gracefully at his wound or something like. “Would you prefer I checked them here or inside?” How was Wren managing to remain that calm? It must be something they were taught.

“Can you tend it here?” Beryl could just imagine that smile, fluffy lashes at half mast and sinfully white teeth. Fili used it like a weapon. She surmised he’d learned that at Thorin’s knee, probably before he learned to walk.

“I would not have offered if it were not so.” Both were quiet for the longest, and Beryl’s sharp ears barely made out the rustle of cloth and bandages being wrapped amidst the buzz and hum of a summer garden.

“Can you tell me what ‘kalhul’ means, Thorin? It is something you said many times in your fever.” Her voice was still and calm, and Beryl wondered at her. If Beryl hadn’t watched them last night, she would have thought Wren was asking out of nothing more than curiosity. 

Beryl’s eyes narrowed. Could Wren really be that clueless? One look at how Thorin’s feverish eyes had drunk in Wren’s face, how his hand had clung to hers, placing both over his heart, Fili, at least, had seen it clear as day then. Now that she thought on it, Thorin was definitely lovestruck as anything she’d ever seen. Was Wren, though? Beryl was tempted to peek at the two in the gazebo, to see if Wren’s face gave anything away. It took all of her considerable willpower to fight her rabid curiosity down. If she so much as sneezed right now, she’d be found, and the moment would be lost. Those two would dry up faster than a keg at a Tavern.

Right now, though, it sounded like Thorin meant to cough his lungs out. Apparently, Wren’s innocent question caught him by surprise. “It means, “fresh as spring water”.” Dear mercy! Thorin, king of the Longbeards Thorin, was mumbling! Mumbling! If that didn’t beat all.

“Only makes sense, I suppose, you were burning with fever.” Wren, apparently, still had no clue. Beryl wanted to beat her own head against the soft grass. “Well,” Beryl actually heard Wren catch herself here. “Thorin, in two days time, I should think this wound healed enough you would not reopen it riding. You may continue your journey then.”

“Our journey cannot wait two days!” There was the roar. It almost reassured Beryl somewhat. Roar she knew how to handle. Cranky she knew how to handle. Feely Thorin, not so much.

“It will if you want your nephew to regain the full use of his leg again! It will if you do not wish to lose even more time falling prey to fever again!” Ooooh, the ginger could snap. The more Beryl heard of this healer, the more she liked her. Definitely needed her to come along. Now how to get Balin to write her a contract?

“Two days!” Beryl listened with glee as Thorin took a deep breath to reign that cranky temper in. “What might you suggest I do with myself for two days? I’m sure my usual pastimes are off limits.”

“Do you play chess, Thorin?” Beryl could hardly contain herself. Maybe the healer wasn’t as clueless as all that.

“I do.” Beryl could almost see the raised eyebrow and half smile.

“Then I will be happy to help you stay occupied in such manner.” Beryl imagined how Wren sailed out of the gazebo, head high while Thorin watched her go. It was almost like being privy to a real life romance novel. Not that she had a few (half dozen) back home on the shelves of her library.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

“Here, and if you so much as think ‘I told you so’ you’ll feel the rough end of my staff.” Beryl groused as she tossed a small coin bag in Fili’s lap. He was still ensconced in bed amidst a veritable cloud of pillows, leg propped so the wound would drain properly.

“I almost wished you still had your broom with you.” The sheer glee apparent in his dancing eyes and winking dimples should be outlawed, along with that blasted cheeky grin.

“And why is that?” Beryl narrowed suspicious eyes at the blond scamp.

“It hurt less.”

“That’s only because I wasn’t trying, much.” Blast his infectious good humor, she could hardly suppress her own laughter.

“Hmm” Whaddaya know, the scamp could be taught. She patted his head as she left to find Balin, and discuss a contract for a second healer.

BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB*BB

Finding Balin wasn’t hard at all, in fact, he nearly pulled her arm off hauling her into a room at the inn. This was hardly Balin-like behavior. Beryl was intrigued.

“Balin! What was that all about?”

“Have you perhaps noticed Thorin’s behavior since his injury? I’ve never seen him like that.” Balin was agitated.

“Yes, I noticed. I think I know what’s causing it.” Beryl felt this was as good an opening as any to discuss what she wanted. “And I think I know how to kill two birds with one stone, that is, if you have another contract with you?”

“Another contract? Lassie, why do we need another contract?” Never let it be said Balin was not a quick study. 

“We got bloody lucky last fight. What if Oin were the one injured? What if we get that badly beaten on the road, and there is no Bree within easy distance? Then what? I’m surprised one as young as Fili saw the need before you experienced sorts did.”

“Aye, I can see that, but how is that killing two birds with one stone?”

“Well, the healer I have in mind is the one who has Thorin so over the moon.” Balin laughed, long and low at Beryl’s impish grin.

“Lassie, you’re a dangerous one.” Balin sobered. “Now, have you procured the agreement of this young healer?”

“Not yet, but I will.” The answer was so sure, so lighthearted, Balin had no doubts the healer in question would have no clue what hit her. Watching the fallout as she realized, though, could be all sorts of entertaining.

The next two days passed quickly. Thorin and Wren learned much about each other and themselves over numerous games of chess. Wren surprised Thorin by winning half the time. “The boys,” as Beryl lumped them, did their best to drink through the entirety of one Barliman Butterbur’s stores. Beryl checked in often on the ponies. She didn’t want them forgetting the tricks she’d been teaching them. They were integral to her plans in getting Thorin’s agreement to bring Wren along. All that was left was getting Wren’s agreement.


	9. Half of a Half of a Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl takes unfair advantage of a situation, and then helps poor Wren to bed, or rather, pours Wren into bed.
> 
>  
> 
> This Chapter is Very much a collaboration. Wren and all her dialog are courtesy of kkolmakov's brilliant imagination. It could not have happened without her.

Broom Baggins IX: Half of a Half of a Half  
May 7, 2015, 4:57:07 PM  
  
Beryl found the golden opportunity when she walked into the Prancing Pony the night before their departure. A morose Wren was nursing a halfling sized mug in far corner, all but crying in her cup . Beryl grabbed herself a mug and joined the wilted healer.

“Hey there, Wren. What’re you up to?”

“I am sad,” Upon closer inspection, Beryl saw she was already pretty far gone. Her eyes had even crossed a bit. “My friend gave me half a half a half... hiccup... just a weeeeeeeeeee bit,” She held up an unsteady hand, the finger and thumb barely not touching. “It was supposed to cheer me up… hiccup… but I think I cannot have even that much... Who knew? Hic!” When the usually calm and collected healer sniffled piteously, Beryl was torn between silly giggles and sympathy. Her situation was not funny, not at all, but her drunken antics? This was the sort of thing friends held over each other’s heads for lifetimes!

“Mercy, Wren, what has you in such a state? Besides the ale, that is?” Beryl thought Fate may have dropped the most perfect Golden Opportunity right in her lap, and she meant to take every advantage of it. She slid into the chair next to the morose healer, patting her hand sympathetically.

“And the worst thing!” She continued her conversation with her mug. “He won’t even remember me!” Her thin shoulders shook with her hiccups, and she sadly poked the foam in her cup with an unsteady finger.

“I can’t believe that, Wren. You’re unforgettable. Who won’t remember you?” Wren finally looked up from her tiny mug, attempting to focus her eyes on Beryl.

“Oh, when did you come here?” Another hiccup bounced her curls and head. Beryl found she had to lean into her to keep her in her chair.

“Just a moment ago. You looked like you could use some company. I’m going to miss you when we hit the road.” Beryl watched the biggest tears form and roll down Wren’s face, as her bottom lip wobbled in sorrow. Her head suddenly lolled forward and thumped the table, loudly. 

“And I will miss you-u-u-u… It is so odd! I don’t miss people… Dwarves… Hobbits…” Her word were lost in a fit of hiccups. Beryl patted her back in sympathy. Never in a thousand years would she have thought to see Wren of Enadwaith like this.

“Well, you coming would take a load off my mind. I was just discussing with Balin we needed another healer on this trip. Then we wouldn’t need to miss each other.” Beryl winced as Wren wailed as if her heart were breaking. 

“Another healer will be bandaging him?! Waaaahhhh...” She threw her head back against her chair, thumping the wall behind her. Then she lolled forward, but stopped just short of hitting the table. She seemed lost in her thoughts as she stared into her empty mug. “My half a half a half is gone. Did someone drink it?”

Beryl had to prop her mouth closed, to keep it from hitting the table. She motioned to Butterbur and slid her ale to Wren. “Well, not if you come with us.” This really was too easy. If the consequences weren’t so serious, Beryl might be inclined to feel guilty. Wren suddenly seemed to remember her backbone, sitting up rigid in her chair, and took a haughty swig of Beryl’s ale.

“I can go with you, I am a free woman. No one can tell me what to do.” Beryl wondered how Wren could even see at all, her eyes were now so crossed. Wren scrunched her nose, as she was wont to do when thinking. “But I won’t! He doesn’t want me there, why would I?”

A suddenly panicky Wren had Beryl by her waistcoat and was shaking her so hard Beryl’s teeth rattled. Honestly, Beryl was doing good to hear Wren over her own teeth clacking. “By ‘him’ I do not mean Thorin! I do not under any circumstances mean Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror” What was meant to be a reassuring assessment ended in a pitiful, reedy sounding whine. 

Beryl really felt like a heel, but reminded herself it was for Wren’s, and Thorin’s, own good. If they ever forgave her, they might get around to thanking her, eventually. “Pity, I have a contract here, all ready to go. We need another healer, and I’d hoped you’d want to come. You don’t put up with their nonsense. We desperately need you on this trip.” Beryl prayed to any and all deities she could name to help her convince Wren to come along.

Wren stared at the contract before her, tracing Thorin’s signature. “I really like his curves! Look at the curves… So nice...” Wren’s voice took on that dreamy edge only the truly sloshed ever managed. “But no, I can’t! What am I going to so?! Ogle him? I mean them… Um... Ponies… I mean ponies… And Bofur!” Wren’s voice wandered off into an incoherent mumble, her face now a shade of red to make Beryl’s best tomatoes back home in her garden jealous.

“Or, more like, you’d save his life…” Beryl adds in a soft voice. Wren gave her a soulful, hopeful look. She’d tucked in her chin, and her bangs half covered her eyes, making her look incredibly young and vulnerable. Beryl patted Wren’s back in a comforting manner, taking her weight when she leaned precariously. Thank all creation Wren was tiny for a daughter of Men.

“Ohhh, is he in danger?” Her eyes were huge with sudden panic, and the question was all but gasped out.

“It’s a long trip to where we’re going. There’ll be worse than bandits on the roads. We need you. He needs you.” Beryl had to bite her tongue not to add ’in more ways than one.’ 

“Oh, Maiar help me, I will regret this!” Her nose was twitching like a rabbit scenting cabbage, and crying so hard it astounded Beryl she could see straight enough to grab the quill she proffered and sign legibly on the appropriate line. “And now we need to drink to commemorate my dimwitted idea to follow a Dwarf who doesn’t even know I exist!” Before she could even lift her tankard, Wren fell across the table, head thumping loudly, completely out cold. Apparently, Wren had found her absolute limit. 

Beryl was incredibly grateful Butterbur had a bed into which they could pour Wren, and he had a tavern girl that could help Beryl get Wren into a nightshift. She also took the time to pack necessities for Wren, and talked one of the healers still awake into checking that Wren had full supplies in her healer’s kit. It was a lot to do, and it was late, but it would be worth it on the morrow. Beryl tucked the contract away for safe keeping. Tomorrow was going to be all sorts of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, by all means, please check out kkolmakov's Fairy Wars or, if you like Star Trek with a hint of hobbity goodness, check our collaboration "Sunny Side Up."
> 
> If you just need an extra dose of Beryl and Fili and don't mind if it's a modern situation, try out 'Southern Comforts," it's right here in my works list. ;)


	10. Mutiny on HMS Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl's plot comes to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Artwork by the talented EmilyAeren of Deviantart.

Beryl was not a morning person, especially considering how late a night she had. However, with cock crow nervous energy had her bounding out of bed before even the Dwarves had stirred. She still had to face down Thorin. She figured her plan had a better chance of working the closer to leaving time she left it. So here she found herself leaping out of bed when she'd rather still be tucked up for an hour of two, to have the ponies ready, Wren safely astride, and Thorin left with little to do but accept the hijacking. Which meant she needed to wake her co-conspirators. She didn't worry about waking Balin...Dwalin however…

Beryl found herself bounding down the stairs at high speeds to raid the kitchen. Coffee! Even the worst sort of morning grump behaved for coffee's sake. Beryl sped into the kitchens. Luckily, the Cook was already there, and begging two steaming mugs off her was child's play. Armed with an appropriate bribe, Beryl made her way carefully back to Balin and Dwalin's room.

Carefully cradling the coffee mugs in one arm, she slid the door open with the other. "Balin! Dwalin! I've coffee for you." As her soft voice and the scent of coffee wafted into the room, the two lumps buried under the blankets began to stir.

"Mahal's beard! The sun's not even cracked her eye yet. What has you awake so early." Dwalin, looking ferocious even when first wakened, cracked his jaw as he yawned, and shook himself awake like some great shaggy bear.

"Nefarious shenanigans, I'm afraid. We need another healer, Balin already knows, and you're gonna help me get her aponyback." Beryl handed a mug to Balin, who thanked her softly. His face was the epitome of bliss as he inhaled the warm aroma.

"We're kidnapping that lassie?" Dwalin's bushy eyebrow rose, silently chiding Beryl. She flushed, nearly sloshing him with hot coffee as she thrust the mug in his waiting hands.

"No! She signed a contract same as I did. We're not kidnapping her. She just overindulged last night." Beryl's arms crossed in pique as she regarded the huge dwarven warrior, still rubbing his bald pate as he sipped his coffee.

"I think I'm going to like the lass."

"Yes, well, if we don't get a move on, you'll be liking her from afar. I'm going to need all the advantage I can get to convince Thorin this is a Good Idea."

"Are you sure you can manage that, lass?"

"Positive enough I'd wager on it." The impish grin was enough to convince the battle hardened Dwarf, who smiled widely as he handed her back the mug.

"Then i'm in!"

Beryl repeated her coffee trick with the other Dwarves she trusted in on the hijinks: Fili and by extension Kili, who nearly gave them away with his barely smothered laughter. Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur rounded up ponies and got them laden with help from Dori, Nori, and Ori. With both Nori and Ori all set to help, Dori came round, though he wanted his objection lodged for future reference.

Beryl wasn't sure about asking Oin and Gloin. Being a healer, Oin ought to understand why it was important she come, but he was also a Dwarven Elder. Beryl was never really sure where she stood with Gloin, though. No one ever explained what it was he said when he stalked out of her den. Their rooms were also closest to Thorin's, so that was a very good reason in her books to leave them out of the shenanigans.

Ponies and packs were ready, it was finally time to collect their newest member of The Company. She quietly entered Wren's room. She was still out cold. Beryl managed to get her dressed without waking her. It was now time to call in the big guns. Dwalin had no troubles picking Wren up and toting her downstairs. Balin and Beryl carried her traveling case and medicine bag.

Dwalin mounted his pony, and let Dori hand her up to him. "Alright, we're set."

"What is all this?" That voice was low, cold, and oh so full of fury. Beryl had to grab her courage with both hands before it scampered off for the hills.

"This would be me stacking the deck before approaching you with something you desperately need to say yes to, but will most likely veto before you hear it all." Well, she was in for it now.

Thorin stalked towards the little Hobbit. He could all but smell her fear. She stood there, face set, but her hands were so twisted up in her shirt, he could barely see them. She'd probably stretched the tunic, too. Not so easy a thing, considering the sturdy material.

"We need a second healer." At her words, his head whipped around to regard the young woman still sleeping in Dwalin's arms. His eyes widened upon recognition, and Beryl pushed on. "What if something happens to Oin? Heck, we were just a short ways from Bree, and we STILL nearly lost you."

"No, it's too dangerous. She hasn't even what training you have. I wouldn't be able to keep her safe in a fight. What good is a another healer if we lose her when we need her most?"

"Are you kidding me? She's tiny for a human. You can play toss and Dwarven shield wall with her as easily as you did me." Beryl still hadn't completely forgiven Balin for lobbing her like a ball to Dwalin during that fight with the bandits. Hobbits were not meant to go airborne.

"More easily, she might have the sense to stay put!" Honest to goodness, she swore Oin had the most selective deafness she'd ever heard tell or seen.

"Not helping, Oin!" She bellowed over her shoulder. She had not taken her eyes off Thorin the entire time. It was almost funny watching him trying to stay calm and collected, the mighty leader of the company, when she knew quite well the fact it was Wren there on the pony with Dwalin was making him twitch in his own skin. "Simple fact remains, Thorin. We need her. No amount of ballyhooing or bellowing or excuses change anything. We need her."

"Am I not the leader of this Company? I forbid it." Thorin's voice was firm and commanding, his hand slashing the air in a universally understood negative. It made Beryl see red.

"You stubborn goat! We need her! I won't come if she doesn't." Beryl knew she'd lost the moment she let the impetuous words fly free. She stomped her foot as his gleeful smirk settled in place.

"Fine, don't come. I release you from your contract." He nodded regally, and mounted his pony, wheeling it around to take in the Company, confident they'd follow sans the troublesome women.

Thorin sneered at Beryl, who steamed, fumed, and prayed she'd taught the ponies well. The other dwarves gave her questioning looks as they passed by. Beryl stayed by Dwalin's pony, Wren still in his arms. "Wait for it, Dwalin."

"Lass, what are you playing at?" He watched her take a sack full of apples off the back of her pony, his pony whickering softly as soon as he saw it.

"You're about to find out." Dwalin shuddered at the sheer mischief contained in those few words. Beryl waited for Thorin to get down the road a ways, cocky and sure he'd outsmarted a little Hobbit of the Shire. Then Beryl took in a deep breath.

"Heeeeeyoooooooooowhup!" The call was loud, bone jarring, and all the ponies squealed and whinnied, turning, some on their hind legs, and galloped back to Beryl. Thorin's face was an incredulous thundercloud when his pony jogged happily to the little Hobbit handing apples out to her obedient charges.

"She's coming, and so am I, or nobody is, and that's final." Beryl grinned as she fed Thorin's pony an apple and rubbed her nose, cooing what a good pony she was.


	11. The Sleeper Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren wakes up Not Where She Belongs.
> 
> Fun times ensue.
> 
> Still from The Hobbit, found on pinterest
> 
>  

A/N: Wren's dialog provided by the incomparable kkolmakov. Thank you for the help, 'cause this chapter just wouldn't gel without you. If you need more ThoWren goodness, you should really check out her page.

 

The money pouches being flung up and down the caravan line were no surprise to Beryl. What did surprise her was Gloin moving his pony up next to her.

"That was a clever bit with the ponies." Gloin didn't actually look at her, but seemed to be studying the road ahead.

"Thank you." Beryl waited, she really had no idea what to say.

"It was a hard thing, losing an entire branch of the family. Even these days, it worried some of us like a sore tooth. To have a bit of it come back, and as a Hobbit no less, takes a bit of getting used to." Beryl wondered if ever there would come a time the Dwarves wouldn't be able to floor her. It was a good thing she was riding, else he'd noticed her frozen in place. She could tell it cost him to admit that much, and it explained his strange aloofness. She could understand, even respect it. She still didn't have a clue as to what to say to it.

She was saved by the shriek of a woman waking to find herself Not Where She Belonged. Beryl turned her attention to the flailing figure in a laughing Dwalin's arms. Her eyes begged Gloin's forgiveness as she turned her pony to attend this latest kerfuffle.

"Dwalin, what did you do?" Beryl sidled her horse next to his, hoping to keep the whirlwind that used to be a sensible healer from breaking her neck in a fall off the pony.

"Nothing! She asked if breakfast were ready, an' I told her she slept through it. She didn't care for that." To say Dwalin had his hands full would have been a gross understatement. That he managed to keep his voice even was a testament to the Dwarf's temperament, stamina, and strength.

"Why am I on a pony?!" Finally! Intelligible words Beryl could answer.

"You agreed last night to provide your services for this venture, since one healer didn't seem enough. Do you remember any of last night?" Beryl kept her voice conversational, hoping to help calm Wren's nerves. Fat lot of good it did her. She could already see Thorin guiding his pony back to them, but apparently, the rest of the Company was told to keep moving. That was promising.

"Beryl Baggins, under no circumstances I could have even considered going on a quest!" The red haired healer was industriously wiggling in the arms of the tattooed warrior, who was holding her firmly while pretending to look elsewhere.

"Shall I show you your signature on the contract?" Beryl pulled the contract out of her breast pocket, and shook it at her playfully.

"What is going on here?" And there's the long nosed twit now. Beryl closed her eyes and prayed for wits enough to get through this in one piece with all players in place. Beryl eyed Wren's sudden lack of motion with some amusement. She currently resembled an exhausted landed fish, down to the silent and gaping mouth. Come to think of it, she'd lost all color, too. Well well.

"Our darling healer awoke without remembering she agreed to come along, and has had a sudden fit of homesickness." Beryl kept her pony between Wren and Thorin. She wasn't sure why it seemed important, but she wasn't going to start second guessing her gut. It'd gotten her this far in one piece.

"Because that is where she belongs," The Dwarf pointed at Wren with his hand still holding a reign. Wren's turn up nose twitched and she sat up straighter.

"She can decide for herself!" The healer apparently had found her voice. And her backbone.

The Grump finally turned and looked at her. Well, apparently, one good insult from the twit and she found her courage. Glassy eyes were now narrowed and spitting fire, the chin in the air daring him to say something else stupid. Beryl sat back, trying desperately to hide her glee. If she were lucky, Thorin's antagonism could very well do her job for her.

"And she wants to go home, since she is clearly unwelcome!" With a twist and a slide to make the best escape artists jealous, Wren freed herself of Dwalin's hold and promptly landed in a mud puddle seat first.

Or maybe not, thought a despairing Beryl. "Wren, it's too far to walk."

"I am not a child and not sickly! I will manage," the healer threw over her shoulder and kept on walking. Beryl nudged her pony after her. She noticed Thorin also followed, apparently mesmerized by Wren's mud coated posterior.

"Yes, and the goblin infested bandits will be entirely too happy you're not a child or helpless, I'm sure." mocked Beryl dryly. "Or do you forget how we met in the first place? The reason you agreed to come last night?"

"I agreed on nothing!" Wren's voice was heard much less now, she was apparently a quick walker. "I was drunk for the first time in my life! And if I do get gutted by goblins, you can blame yourself, Beryl Baggins!"

"And much more honest with yourself while you were. I suppose you don't remember admiring Thorin's curves when you signed, either." Beryl hissed in a private voice. She trotted her pony alongside the miffed healer. Showing her the signatures together on the contract.

Wren dug her heels into the mud of the road.

"I would never admire any man's… curves!" the healer's voice was squeaky. "I do not admire.. men in general! What are you?.. What?.." Wren sputtered like a teakettle losing steam. Beryl waited until she quieted like a ship becalmed, and then laid in with the heavy broadsides.

"Firstly, you did sign, because you know those fools can't stay out of trouble without appropriate supervision. Namely supervision provided by you and me. I had hoped another person with sense would help.

"Secondly, as torn up over the shape Thorin came in, I thought you might understand why having another healer was vital. Apparently, you fooled us both last night.

"So, go ahead, walk all the way back to Bree by yourself. You'll get yourself killed, be an oathbreaker, and leave these twits to the tender mercies of the road, which you had promised last night you would help see them through!" Beryl sat on her pony, chest heaving and eyes stinging. Until she had said all that, she hadn't realized just how important it all was to her. It was rather eye opening.

The healer stood still, her back to Beryl and her shoulders tense. She then slowly turned around, and to her shock Beryl saw a small smile on the healer's face.

"And have you packed my healer's sack, Beryl Baggins?" If she thought to catch Beryl out so easy, she was in for disappointment.

"I had another healer check your sack to make sure it was complete, and I packed your travel bags myself. They're waiting on your pony. So yes, your duties in Bree are covered, since they knew you were going." The healer cocked her head and gave Beryl a measuring look.

"You do think yourself very smart, don't you?"

"I don't know about smart, but prepared? Managing a village of Hobbits will teach you preparedness." Wren laughed softly and shook her head.

"Something tells me, managing thirteen Dwarves might be a more laborious task..." She sighed and looked down the road behind Beryl. Thorin sat in the distance, studying the surroundings carefully, studiously not watching the women in the road.

"I don't doubt it." Beryl's eyes narrowed on the Dwarven headache most definitely Not Watching them. "I'll need all the help I can get."

"Very well, I will go with you," Wren stubbornly jerked her chin up, "But only because I do not break my promises even if they were made in a completely muddled state. And no mentioning of any curves!" She pointed her small finger at Beryl's nose. It was all Beryl could do not to dance in glee.

"I give you my solemn oath. No mention of curves shall pass my lips." Stopping the small grin twitching at the corners of her mouth was well beyond Beryl's capabilities at the moment.

Mumbling something about "no more ale ever again" and "curse my promises" Wren marched back towards the company. On the way she passed the Grump who was busy fixing his pony's nosepiece as if it were the most important thing in the world. She walked by, head held high, and her back straight.

"Thorin," she spoke in a strained, pointedly cold voice.

"Honorable healer," he returned the line in the same tone, with a small nod, and she reached her pony and climbed on it.

Beryl was ready to soak both their heads.


	12. Trolls make Shoddy Hosts, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl gets her first taste of 'real adventure.' She doesn't care for it not one little bit.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> image found on pinterest, attributed to kaciart.tumblr.com

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Wrenny goodness care of the incomparable kkolmakov. Honestly, if you think she's the bees knees here, you should check out her page on fanfiction.net holy cow.

A week on the road, and Beryl was ready to chew horseshoes into rooftacks. Thorin was surly and more brusque than usual. Wren would only talk if spoken to, and then only in short terse sentences. Neither would hardly look at the other, except if one were absorbed in some task, then the one looking would stare to either his or her heart's content. Bofur had a betting pool on which of them would break first and snog the sense out of the other one. Nori had gleefully told Beryl there was a separate pool on whether or not she'd lose her patience with them first. Beryl thought the only reason he was brave enough to mention this at all was because her sapling staff was out of reach, and she never did find her broom.

It was looking like Beryl might just make one Dwarf or another very rich at any moment. The rain was coming down in buckets, and the closest thing to shelter they'd found was a rundown, rickety farmhouse with the roof gone. Everything was so wet, even Oin and Gloin couldn't get a fire going reliably. It was the perfect situation to fray tempers already stretched thin to breaking. Beryl stomped off into the brush to gain a few moments of relief.

It took her a while to realize that wasn't the red haze of her anger she was seeing, but a fire in the distance. "Oh well done lass! Looks like you found us a bit of fire!" Beryl jumped. She had been so absorbed, she never heard the blond scamp coming up behind her.

"Fili, we've no idea if that fire belongs to friend or foe, and I for one, am not about to go over there to find out." It was very hard to look intimidating with rain running in rivers off her nose, but Beryl gave it her best shot. Blondie didn't even notice.

"Oh, Brilliant! She's found us a fire already going? Gandalf was right, bringing you did improve our luck!" Kili picked her up and twirled her around, laughing as she bludgeoned his shoulders with her tiny fists.

"Put me down!" Once returned to earth, Beryl had to steady herself with a hand against Fili's sturdy shoulder. Once she regained her breath, she shook a finger at the Brown Scamp. "Kili, for all I know, that fire belongs to orcs or worse! I'm not going out there."

"Who said go out there? Just sneak up close enough to see if they're friendly, and come right back. See? No danger, and we'll be right behind you. Just hoot like twice a barn owl and once like a brown owl, we'll be right there."

"I'm not hooting like any bloody owl!" Beryl hissed.

"Then just whistle." That was Fili. Apparently, raising the Hobbit's blood pressure was a new pasttime the Scamps were enjoying immensely.

"It's raining buckets!" She hollered at their retreating backs. It did no good, both of them were off and running, full tilt back to their soggy camp, and Beryl was left staring at an inviting fire off in the trees. Curse her curiosity.

Beryl was frozen solid right where she was. Trolls. It was a Troll campfire. A campfire with Trolls sitting about it. Thankfully, whatever they were roasting this night had four feet instead of two. Beryl wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her stomach contents if it weren't. She wanted to go back to camp, she really did, except she was frozen in place. Trolls. Nothing should be allowed to be that big, that ugly, or that noxious. Beryl was afraid her nausea would spill despite her best efforts when the Troll in front of her bent over and his body odor made it to her despite the heavy rain still falling.

And then disaster struck.

"ACHOO!" Beryl had caught the sniffles from the rain, at the worst sort of time. Before she could disappear back into the brush, one of the Trolls had grabbed her up, squeezing her about the middle.

"Unhand me right now you brute!" She bellowed at them. She wiggled and kicked like a mad thing in his clutches. While her loud voice and wild flailings made the one holding her flinch, he didn't drop her. This might have been a good thing, since they were using the campfire to get a good look at her.

"What is it Bert?"

"Dunno, Tom. You ever seen anything like it?"

"Bugger me. Not nuthin' like. You Will?' At this the biggest of the lot came up and poked an ungentle finger in her middle.

"Well, morsel, what are ye then?" Will's ungodly breath rolled over her like death's own miasma.

That was her limit, she lost her fight with her digestive system all over the Troll's hand, and he dropped her. She barely missed the spit and fire.

"I'm fed up with the lot of this, that's what I am! You and your squishy hands and you with your pokey fingers. I'm fed up with this rain, low rations, a sore bum, and pushy Dwarves!" Who knew Hobbits could roar? The three Trolls stumbled back, not sure what to do with the angry little thing in front of them. They regarded her much the way they would a maddened badger, right up until the word 'Dwarves' left her mouth. Then their demeanor changed completely.

"Dwarves?" Said one, and it wiped dripping drool all over its forearm.

"There's Dwarves here, then?" She did not care for the evil light in the Trolls' eyes. Beryl thought as fast as she could.

'Were, they done a runner while I had to use the bushes. They don't like my mouth any more than you do."

"Aww, could have used a good bit of roast Dwarf. Now we're stuck with the mutton!"

"Don't start that again! Besides, what makes you think she'd tell us the truth any road?" Beryl had been sliding her way unobtrusively towards the safety of the woods when a great tree trunk of a leg came down in front of her.

"And just where do you think you're going, little mouthy thing?" Oh the foul stench that rolled over her from that cavernous mouth. If she lived to escape this, she'd happily go back to minding the shire, and hang Dwarves, Trolls, mountains and dragons all.

Beryl still fired up and angry, swatted the bent over Troll's nose in front of her as hard as she could. Apparently, the Troll hadn't expected that move, and fell over. Unfortunately, this caught the bickering Trolls attention, and Beryl found herself surrounded again. She just prayed the Dwarves had enough sense not to come barreling into the fray.

What was she thinking? Of course they'd come barreling into the fray. She was their 'lost princess'. Now that Gloin had accepted her as family, nothing in this world would stop him from getting her back, and both Dwalin and Balin'd be right there with him. Dwalin'd probably thank her for the lovely brawl. Beryl's mind kicked into high gear, but no idea was forthcoming.

She was surrounded, and the Dwarves were coming with no way for her to warn them what was here. The Trolls would probably hear them from miles away, given all the racket they made. Only Nori seemed to understand the beauty of moving quietly, and even he made more noise than she found acceptable.

So, the only chance her boys had were if she kept the three distracted. Okay. Distract them. How? "So, ye have me. Now, what're you three gonna do with me?"


	13. Trolls Make Shoddy Hosts II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl holds the fort until help arrives.  
> Image found on pinterest, attributed to ashsilverlock.com

**To Serve Dwarf, Shoddy Hosts part II**

  
“Wot? We’re goin’ ter eat cher is wot!” Beryl decided today was another for her calendar. A Troll was studying her like she was daft.  
  
“Oh, well, that’s fine and dandy, but have you really seen me? Hardly a mouthful, am I? So, I guess the question is, which one of you is going to eat me?” Beryl gestured to her tiny, rain soaked and mud spattered body, letting it make her case for her.  
  
“Huh?” Was this concept really beyond them? Two of the Trolls seemed to be attempting to puzzle out what she said, while the third wasn’t bothered a bit.  
  
“Well, I don’t mind a little morsel before the mutton’s done.” Just as a massive Troll paw reached for her, another swatted it away. Beryl let her breath out in a long relieved sigh.  
  
“Hold on there, who said you could eat it?” Now two Trolls were nose to nose, and Beryl didn't think it was to dance.  
  
“But I’m hungry now!” The one Troll whined as if he would starve on the spot if denied.   
  
“So?” To say the second Troll was unimpressed was an understatement as gross as he was.  
  
“I’m hungriest, so I gets it!” The whiney Troll shoved the second Troll in the chest.  
  
“You’ll get it alright!” And there was the windup.  
  
The third Troll, who’d stayed out of the argument made a grab for Beryl. “Hey now! You think you get to eat me behind the others’ backs?”  Beryl hollered, almost giddy when the other two turned on the third Troll.  That was all it took, a three way brawl broke out. Beryl again made for the brush.  
  
“Look there you lackwits! She’s getting away again!” Some days, there was just no winning.  
  
Before the first Troll could lay a hand on her a wild warcry from thirteen throats filled the clearing and a Dwarf swinging two axes cut deeply into the offending Troll arm.  “Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!” Beryl was never so happy to see her berserker uncle in her life.  
  
“Hey Beryl, Grab that end and tie it off, won’t you?”  and there’s sneaky Nori, up to hijinks.  Beryl quickly found a stump to wind the thick rope around and tied it off tightly. The stump or rope length might give up the ghost, but her knot wouldn’t. It was only one of many tricks she’d learned managing her Took and Brandybuck cousins. Nori ducked and weaved amongst one of the Troll’s feet, leading him a merry chase. Finally satisfied, Nori stepped back and whistled to Ori.  Ori drew back his slingshot, and hit the Troll right between his eyes. The Troll lumbered a step towards Ori before falling like a tree to a lumberjack’s axe.  
  
The others had not been idle. Beryl watched Dwalin launch Fili  in the air so he could strike a Troll that dared grab at Dori. Balin danced around, swatting the Troll’s hands with his mace. Beryl still said it looked more like a sword than a proper mace, and didn’t the boys laugh at her for that one? Gloin and Thorin were baiting the last Troll, slashing him deftly every time his attention turned from one to the other. They pretty well kept him tied up between them.  
  
Beryl just wished someone’d kept an eye on the lumberjacked Troll. “Drop ‘em or the morsel gets ripped in two! Now!” Beryl felt tears start in her eyes, as the Troll stretched her far enough she felt sure something dislocated, and all her vertebrae popped.  
  
She felt humiliated.  She should have known to keep an eye on him, and now he’d used her to catch the Dwarves, too. Whether they really did or not, she still felt her cheeks burn in shame from accusing glares. She never gathered enough courage to actually look at any of them as they were stuffed into burlap sacks.  
  
“Now, how’s that for you a proper meal, eh Bert?” Sadly, the sacking of Dwarves had given Beryl plenty of time to start telling Trolls apart. Will was now poking and prodding them, deciding how best to serve them up.  
  
“Oh, that’s fine! That’s fine! Been awhile since we had a proper Dwarf roast.” Bert was rubbing his hands and dancing from foot to foot. Beryl had seen wee fauntlings at their first feast less excited. The incongruity of it all made her eyes slightly cross.  
  
“Roast ‘em? There’s not enough dark left for a roast. I says we skins ‘em and eats em raw right now!” Tom the surly one was sharpening his knife, and wasn’t that a horror to behold. The thing looked almost as thick as a Dwarf, and twice as long.  
  
“But their skins get so crunchy when they’re roasted!”  Bert whined. Beryl couldn’t believe her ears. They were going to argue away the rest of the night! They’d wind up stone cold statues at this rate, especially with a little Hobbity help.  
  
“Oh aye, ye might not even want to wait to skin ‘em, if that’s alright.”  Even the healer glared at her. She made a face back at her. Surely she knew better than that! Why would she have fought and schemed to bring a second healer along, just to help Trolls eat them all. Really!  
  
“Now why would you want ter help us?”  Will leaned into her face, giving her a marvelous dose of his halitosis. Beryl was glad she had nothing left to heave, mostly.  
  
“Oh, it’s not you I’m wanting to help.” Beryl barely kept her eyes from rolling at that one. “‘I just don’t want the florgleworms loose.”  
  
“Florgleworms! No! Don’t let the florgleworms out!” Really? Bert the Whiny Troll was too easy. That’s why she kept her eyes on Will the Wiley Troll.  
  
“I ain’t never heard of no florgleworm before.” He peered at her suspiciously, and prodded her sack with his finger. What was with him and poking her? .   
  
“I don’t imagine you have. Very nasty business. Works very fast. I’m sure no Troll that ate a Dwarf full of florgleworms ever made it back to tell what happens.”   
  
“She could be lying.” Thank you for your input, Tom the Surly. Beryl had to think faster.  
  
“Think on it! Why else would a bunch of strapping Dwarves like these be traveling with two healers?” Beryl nodded over towards Wren in her sack, and received a furious glare in return. Honestly, Beryl was just as glad looks couldn’t really kill. She’d be dead thrice over at this rate.  
  
“ ‘Struth? Yer one a’ their healers?” Will gestured to the lump of Dwarves.  
  
“I was hired to tend their ills, yes.” Even stuffed in a sack, soaking wet, Wren sounded as cool and calm as a cucumber. Beryl wondered if the woman took something to manage that.  
  
“Are they sick with florgleworms, then?” Leave it to Will to ask her a direct question. Beryl wished she knew if Wren could bring herself to lie for their sakes. Beryl shut her eyes and prayed.  
  
“Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!” And with Gandalf’s lovely first words since he went off on his own in Bree, a cock crowed, daylight flowed, and three Trolls became little more than statuary. Beryl thanked her stars, the creators, and anything else that came to mind as the Wizard went about letting them out of the sacks.


	14. Comeuppance Cometh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the Troll Brawl, and discoveries in the Troll Hole.
> 
>  
> 
> Wren used with permission and oversight of the wonderful kkolmakov who has an awesome site called kolmakov.ca  
> If it doesn't sound like Wren, I probably wrote it. If it's spot on, kkolmakov wrote it.
> 
> Image found on Pinterest.  
> 

Beryl waited patiently, occasionally sneezing, as Wren and Oin tended the Dwarves first, leaving her last. She couldn't really blame her. First thing Beryl did after pulling her into this mess was to nearly get everyone eaten by Trolls. Maybe checking them over first let her temper cool enough to see to Beryl professionally, instead of vindictively.

She took her own internal inventory while she waited. Her left arm didn't feel quite right. It wasn't out of socket, thankfully, that would have been easy for even her to tell, but the muscles in her arm did not quite want to cooperate. She couldn't even pull grass up with the fingers of her left hand. So, along with a growing cold, something was up with her fingers, and her back was more than a little sore from that bloody Troll stretching her so.

"Well, Mistress Baggins, our Company seems little the worse for wear from this adventure you found for us. Let us see how you fared." Wren's voice was light, almost teasing, which surprised Beryl. Wren even hummed as she checked her over. Beryl tried to stifle her sneezes, but one got past her after all. Wren immediately tutted, then checked her throat, tongue, and felt behind her ears.

"So far, my fine Hobbit, you have managed to wrench your left arm, it will need a sling for a few days, pulled muscles in your back, and managed to catch a nasty cold." Wren narrowed her eyes at her. "You will not be fit to manage a pony by yourself, not in this state."

Beryl's eyes widened in horror. "You don't mean to tell Thorin that! He'll try to leave me behind, again!"

"After you pulled me into this mess, do you think I will let you out of it that easily? Oh no, I have something much better in mind." Whatever she had in mind, it must have been a doozy for her to relent so. "Besides, while you might have gotten us into this mess, you also got us out. I think that fairly settles any score. Gandalf even said as much to Thorin."

"He what?" Color Beryl dumbfounded.

"I believe his exact words were: My dear Thorin, she had the sense to play for time, which none of you thought to do." Wren turned in time to see Gandalf leading the Dwarves down a dark cave back behind some thick juniper trees. Beryl's curiosity got the better of her, and she made to follow.

"And what do you think you are doing?" The sight of a narrow gazed, toe tapping, hands-on-hips healer was enough to quail even Beryl's spirit, but not quite enough to stop her curiosity.

"Following them, of course." Wren huffed, and then wrapped an arm around and under Beryl's good side.

"What?" Beryl watched Wren with a wary gaze. The supporting arm around her aching back was surprisingly gentle.

"Clearly, you mean to go, but if I let you go alone, you will only injure yourself further. This way, I can minimize the damage you are sure to incur." Wren's voice made it clear she'd brook no argument. Her mind firmly made up. Beryl acquiesced. After all, she was getting to go down the Troll hole.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"My pleasure." Beryl and Wren made their careful way passed the thick and dripping juniper, and quickly regretted their choice to follow.

"Oh my gracious." Beryl's bare feet kicked something noisome to the side. "The stench."

"Yes, my fair Baggins. Trolls are not known for their housekeeping skills, rather for their lack of them." Gandalf looked around himself. The place was littered with both dismembered dead things, junk, and rare treasures. Gloin was leading a few dwarves in gathering coins and gems into a chest he'd found, burying them in the soft dirt.

He looked up at Wren and Beryl studying him. He gave them a wink and a half smirk as he said, 'We're making a long term deposit."

"Gandalf, look here." Thorin was over by a barrel full of rusty and cobwebbed weapons. He pulled two web coated scabbards out. The hilts strangely clean under the layer of web. "These do not look like any troll make."

"Nor were they made by any smith among men." Gandalf studied the blade Thorin gave him, seemingly lost in memories. "These were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves, of the First Age." Thorin roughly shoved the blade he had back into its scabbard, moving back towards the barrel. "You could not wish for a finer blade." Thorin thought a moment on Gandalf's warning before shoving the scabbard roughly through his belt.

"Let's leave this foul place. Come!" Beryl wondered how he managed to storm so kingly in such a cramped and foul place, but that's exactly what he did. She stumbled slightly as she turned to follow them.

"Beryl, what?"

"I caught my foot on something." Beryl gingerly felt down amongst the litter of the floor, pulling up a long belt knife, a short sword for her size, or Wren's. "I think I found something for you."

"Beryl, no! What would I do with such a thing?" Wren's voice sounded vaguely pleading.

"I have my staff, I wouldn't know how to use a blade anyways. You know knives, and I'd feel better if you had some means to protect yourself anyways. It looks a mate to the one Thorin carries. If it's good enough for a king, then it should be fine for a queen among healers."

It was difficult, but Beryl managed, barely, to keep her expression neutral as Wren studied her face and words for double meanings. Not even under torture would Beryl admit it, though she was giggling like a mad thing internally at her own wit. Wren's own half smile worried Beryl a bit. She still hadn't told Beryl how she meant to keep her with the party since she wasn't fit to ride by herself.

She found out the next morning. Fili was grinning quite like a warg among sheep, and that set Beryl's alarms to ringing. Wren's satisfied smile did nothing to help. Her fears were confirmed as she salved the worst of Beryl's bruises before putting her arm back in a sling to immobilize it.

"I have arranged for you to ride with Fili." Her voice was as cool and as calm as always, giving nothing away to what she was thinking. What Beryl wouldn't give for a half a half a half now to know what the healer was really thinking. Beryl fought but lost to keep the color out of her own cheeks.

"Particular reason Fili was chosen?" She did not squeak, not at all. She had no reason to squeak.

"Particular reason not to choose Fili? As I understand it, you two get along fairly well. He's strong and agile enough to get you out of the way if a fight starts." Calm cool rational, she still felt as if the healer was mocking her.

"Seemed strange I'd not be riding with my guardians, is all." Beryl tried to sound as level and calm as Wren. Something told her she didn't quite measure up.

"They will be doing precisely that, guarding you. Not so easily done if they are holding you on a horse as well." There was a finality in Wren's words and bearing that no amount of waffling could weasel past, and Beryl had to accept it.

So the Company found itself embarking on the next leg of their journey with Beryl safely ensconced in Fili's arms, her cheeks flaming, and the Blond Scamp grinning ear to ear.


	15. Stone Cold Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wren dialogue provided by kkolmakov. Kitty has mentioned a companion piece to this chapter, so keep your eyes peeled!
> 
> Image found on pinterest attributed to leupagus.tumblr.com

The ride that day was excruciating, but not from physical pain. Her back was such a mess she couldn't hold herself upright, and she found the solid warmth of the dwarf behind her entirely too comfortable. His persistent humming vibrated against her back, keeping the butterflies in her stomach in constant flight. If it weren't for the random wafts of troll stink whenever she moved, she'd have been almost comfortable, and that scared her more than anything else.

Beryl was never so glad in her life to stop for the night, and to find a stream nearby made it all the better. She dug her lump of soap out of her bag one handed and headed for the inviting water.

"Precisely where do you think you are going?" Why had Beryl thought it'd be a good idea to bring Wren along? Now she felt like a fauntling caught sneaking into Farmer Maggot's garden.

"To wash off the last of the troll stink. Want to join me? It's honeysuckle soap." Beryl watched Wren's lips twitch into a half smile as Beryl dangled the soap in invitation.

"If you can promise me to wait a moment, I will join you. I prefer my lilac scented soap." Beryl nodded, and Wren was back quickly with two thick blankets and a change for both of them. Beryl hadn't even thought that far ahead.

They washed together in silence. Wren gently getting all the places Beryl couldn't reach one handed, and Beryl washing Wren's back with her one good hand.

"I'm sorry." The words were out without thought or plan, and completely flummoxed the healer.

"Beryl, what reason do you have for being sorry?" Wren ducked her hair again, as she waited for Beryl to put her thoughts together.

"For dragging you into this, for the troll mess. It's my fault, and I'm sorry." Wren thought if the halfling sunk any lower in the swift current, they'd have to chase her downstream to rescue her. She gently pulled her closer to shore.

"Was it your plan to get caught by the trolls?"

"No! Stupid cold made me sneeze."

"Yes, another good reason not to linger in the water." Once they were comfortably dried and changed, Wren sat with Beryl on the bank, combing and braiding her hair for her.

"I am not mad, Beryl. I have not been mad with you since that first day. I understand why you wanted me on the adventure, and have not harbored cross thoughts towards you since."

"But you looked so mad during the troll fight."

"It was not aimed at you." Beryl let Wren's words sink in for a moment, before asking what really bothered her.

"Okay, so, why Fili?"

"It was not my decision. I told Thorin you could not ride. Fili offered and Thorin agreed. Truly, if it is a difficulty, I can ask Thorin to assign another?"

"I suppose not. Most of the others I'd have probably beat to death by now. It really wasn't to get me back?" She'd already walloped Kili, she could easily see her trying to beat Nori or Bofur for careless words. Poor Ori would be too scared to say anything with her on a pony with him. Bifur she couldn't understand. Riding with him would be alright, but if a fight happened, it'd be pandemonium. In truth, of the bunch, Fili probably was the best choice. Dast it.

"Beryl, I signed the contract and it is my quest as well now. Sober or not it was my decision, and now I will live with it. I am not cross with you, I was cross with myself." And there it was. Beryl needed her good graces, and here she'd thought she'd already mucked it beyond saving. Perhaps Beryl needed to do a little less assuming, and a little more trusting. Wren wasn't some mischievous Took cousin, but a Healer of Men that'd taken an oath to help and not hinder.

Before Beryl could formulate an answer from all her whirling thoughts, there was a scuffling sound from the thick bushes along the top of the creekbank. Beryl quickly picked up a rock from the streambank, and threw it directly at the center of the disturbance. A sharp cry and sudden silence followed. Beryl was already waiting with another rock in hand, daring anything from the brush to head their way. Wren looked at her with admiration.

"Remind me, dear Beryl, never to anger you when there are missiles available." Beryl giggled and hugged Wren one handed. Wren, a little surprised, allowed herself to be hugged.

The walk back to camp was companionable, most of Beryl's misgivings laid to rest. Given a little time, she might even be able to talk to Wren about her own romantic apprehensions. The inveterate matchmaker in her was dying to help Wren sort herself and Thorin out. All those thoughts were quickly forgotten at sight of Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile, nursing a massive black eye near the fire and Nori looking as if he had taken on all three trolls by himself, sitting as far from Thorin as he could while still being within camp. Wren made straight for Thorin and her medicine bag. Beryl headed straight for the best gossipmonger in camp, namely Bofur.

She found Bofur with her sapling staff, his whittling knife, and two decorative endcaps. She stopped for a moment to consider the sight before her. Why was Bofur fiddling with her staff, and whence did the irrepressible Bofur get the beautiful caps? She shook herself and gathered her thoughts. One mystery at a time, please and thank you.

"So, why's Thorin sporting a black eye, and why's Nori looking like he was drug the last three miles behind a pony with dysentery?" She sat down and watched him work on her staff. He really had quite the clever hands.

"Well, Nori there was caught sneaking off towards the stream where you girls were, and Thorin went after him." Bofur eyed one end of her staff, shaved a sliver off, and then tried the endcap for fit. It was almost ready.

"Nori took a swing at Thorin?" Beryl didn't even try to hide the squeak in her voice.

"Oh no, he'd be in much worse shape if he had. No, Thorin claims a stray rock got him. In fact, probably the only reason Nori's still breathing was he waited out of sight of the stream for you ladies to finish. He apparently had a question he wanted to ask you somewhat private like." Bofur cut his eyes slyly up at her from his work. Too bad the poleaxed expression wasn't from what he thought it was.

"A...stray...rock..." Beryl felt faint. None of the rest of what he said even registered. She'd hit Thorin with her rock. She was doomed. She'd just struck Thorin Oakenshield, King in Exile, Leader of the Company, and she only found out about it now. Beryl collected her thoughts, and watched in appreciation as Bofur continued to work on her staff. One endcap was firmly in place now, and he was steadily carving and shaping the other end for the match.

"Okay, Thorin was struck by a stray rock, and he thumped Nori for following us. What are you doing with my staff, and where did you get those lovely endcaps?"

"Well, I figured if I were holding your staff, you couldn't thump me for askin' if you'd consider my suit. And I figured the best reason I could have for holdin' yer staff would be if I were making it a bit more battleworthy. The endcaps I found in the Troll Hole. They look to be mithril and a bit more besides. There's a matching centergrip there I've already put in place. Once I get these endcaps just so, even a troll will be hard put to break your staff." Bofur tapped the lovely centergrip that had what appeared to be a mix of Dwarven and Elvish runes amidst vines and flowers.

"Bofur...did you just propose to me somewhere in there?" Beryl sat down before she fell down. Today was becoming entirely too much.

"Might have done." Bofur cut a cautious glance at her as he continued to trim the end of her staff.

"Why?" Just when she thought she was done with the marriage proposal nonsense, she's right back in the thick of them. Was every bloody dwarf in the company going to propose? Maybe not Gloin, he'd proudly showed her his wife and son, to 'acquaint her with her newfound family.' She was probably safe there, maybe, unless Dwarves went in for multiple spouses. That was not a helpful thought.

"Why not? Yer a brave, inventive lass, and we'd never bore each other."

"Marriage needs a little more than that to work." Beryl's dry reply fazed Bofur not a whit.

"It's not a bad start for a marriage, either."

"I can't even…" It occurred to Beryl in a moment of morbid humor that Thorin ending her over the rocky insult would also end the proposal aggravation, too.

"Think on it, lass, at least?" Bofur handed her the finished staff, and walked off towards Bombur and the cookpot.

Seriously, what was with all these bloomin' bloody Dwarves?


	16. Eye of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little discussion is had between Wren and Thorin whilst she tends the royal peeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Katya Kolmakov, from Wren's point of view. Enjoy!
> 
> finding a picture for this chapter was impossible, so here, have a sexy Thorin.  
> 

Wren led Beryl back to the camp, feeling much better than before. Firstly, she utterly enjoyed having washed. The familiar scent of lilacs on her skin and hair added to the comforting feeling. Her nerves had been in horrible frenzy since they left Bree, and only an immense effort prevented her from falling apart. Having something from home made it a bit more tolerable to be on a journey she hadn't chosen to go to, in the company of thirteen men who didn't want her there, and in the excruciating proximity to the man whom she… Oh no, Wren was not going there! These thoughts were to be locked away and buried. Very, very deep. Perhaps when she'd be old and grey she'd be telling her great grandchildren how she was once dim enough to fall head over heels… Wait, was she not intent on absolutely not going there?! Exactly! Wren concentrated on the Hobbit she was supporting, while they slowly walked back to the camp.

The conversation they had had with Beryl was the second reason Wren was now in a much more cheery mood. She had suspected that Beryl had gotten a wrong impression of Wren's opinion of her, and it was nice to clear the air, so to say. Except for that one little thing…

Wren's thoughts were interrupted by the most astonishing view they encountered in the camp. Most Dwarves were sitting in their previous spots, perhaps the only difference from before was the tense and someone forced nonchalance on their faces. That was besides the giant black eye that Wren's main reason for misery sported. And the air around Nori, who looked as if he had been unfortunate enough to face a cattle stampede. His usually strangely solid hairdo was in disarray, the coat was missing several buttons, and altogether he looked rather shaken. Wren quickly evaluated the damage, and decided that the royal peeper was in more danger. It was slowly giving the surrounding half of the haughty, grumpy face a tender purple tinge.

Beryl decisively peeled herself off Wren and headed to Bofur. Wren internally agreed with her. If one wanted to know who, what and how, Bofur was the person to go to.

Wren picked up her healer's sack and marched to the King. It was a proper wonder how he could look grumpy doing virtually anything. Before having the misfortune of encountering him on her life path she hadn't known one could even smoke cantankerously. And would you look at that? Even the rings of smoke he was exhaling looked somewhat peeved.

"I should probably have a look at that..." She stopped in front of him, and he made such a valiant effort to continue his surly smoking that she could bet his teeth were now gritted around the mouthpiece.

"Thank you, honourable healer, it is unnecessary." Wren sighed at his dour tone, picked up the pipe around the shank and pulled it out of his mouth. Not thinking of how his lips were wrapped around it. Of course she wasn't. That would be ridiculous.

The blue eyes flew up at her in astonishment. The temptation to stick her tongue at him was unbearable, but Wren was a well brought up lass. She would do it when he wouldn't be looking. She placed the pipe on the fallen tree he was regally and glumly seated on, and then she leaned in and looked at the wonderful purple blob growing around his right peeper.

"What happened?" She hardly could imagine Nori having dared to do such thing, and also the red haired Dwarf surely would have looked much worse if he had, and suddenly the lashes of the Dwarven King-in-Exile fluttered, and the most wondrous thing happened. Slight pink spilled on his cheekbones, and Wren could wager her best surgical blade on it, his tanned skin above the black beard was right in front of her nose. Wren industriously pushed thoughts of the aforementioned beard, skin, lashes… and honestly speaking the rest of his moody, overbearing self, in the farthest corner of her mind. Again. And no, it hadn't been the thousandth time. Today.

"Nothing of importance..." Oh! Shifty eyes as well?!

Wren knew she honestly didn't seem like one these days, but she was a smart lass. That was easy to forget considering she was travelling to Maiar knew where in the company of thirteen Dwarves, a Hobbit and a wizard, having signed a contract in the state more intoxicated than one of a brandied pear, but still there was a wee bit of something in that ridiculous ginger head of hers.

"Hm, I see..." She hummed and opened her sack. She fished out arnica and parsley ointment out of it and dabbed a clean cloth in it. The King opened his mouth clearly to protest. "Beryl does have a wonderful aim with a rock, doesn't she?" She gave him a pleasant polite smile for good measure. That was for calling her 'honourable healer' after she had allowed him to use her first name, back then in the Bree infirmary. She had never allowed another man such liberty, and he had thrown it aside like it were nothing of importance!

Wren leaned in closer to apply the balm on the bulging purple bruise, but she might as well push the cloth in his wide open mouth. Oh right, he was intending to say something! Pity his jaw was now hanging so low, Wren thought sarcastically. She pressed the cloth onto the brow, and he closed the mouth with a loud clank of teeth.

"I was… I was not… In any way..." Oh Maiar, the day was full of surprises, wasn't it? Apparently Dwarven Kings mumbled. Who'd know?

"You were not in any way trying to peep from out of shrubbery while two maidens were washing?" Wren asked in an innocent sing-song voice, and dabbed the brow several times.

The sound he made reminded her of the last choked squawk chicken made when their necks were snapped before they were put into soup. Wren tried to suppress a smile, but his widened eyes and now flaming cheekbones were such a contrast to his usual imperious disposition that she simply couldn't help it. A giggle was completely accidental as well.

"I was simply concerned for your safety!" He snarled through his teeth and gave her a glare. If he expected to intimidate her, he clearly didn't know that his lashes fluttered when he was embarrassed. And those were very long and fluffy lashes. She might have missed their majestic adorableness before, but now she was observing them in a very, very close proximity.

"Safety from stalkers, I suppose?" She asked and met his eyes. Look, he switched to huffing and puffing. She bet he would prefer to face an Orc right now. Or even a dozen. She was properly enjoying this.

"I… I haven't seen anything!" His voice was coarse from bashfulness.

"Has Nori?"

Bingo. Cue the second fall of the jaw. Honestly, did he think her doltish? Two and two usually made four, and Nori was now faring a torn off collar, by which he was clearly dragged out of those very shrubs around the lake.

The King decided that was the limit of his endurance, and he went for the most logical approach. He pursed his lips and his eyes grew distant. Petulant child look, Wren evaluated. Quite a spectacle.

After cleaning the bruise she had to admit that besides an impeccable aim Beryl also possessed a surprising strength for such a friendly looking, cute thing. The King needed stitches. Wren put the ointment away and pulled out the needle and thread set out of her bag. The King looked at it sideways like a horse unhappy to see a saddle, but said nothing.

Wren stitched, the King brooded. Wren had to also concede that she was holding her breath. The King smelled surprisingly nice, of woods and smoke and something else, grassy and masculine, and Maiar help her, it was probably his skin, and she didn't need these memories added to the myriad of the things she was definitely not thinking about. Such as his wide shoulders, and the confident stride, and now also the coarse whiskers in the beard, and the glossy black eyebrows that she wasn't under any circumstances fantasising to run her fingertip along. Maiar help her.

"Bofur will blabber..." The King's sudden line shook Wren out of her concentration. She halted the movement of her fingers and looked at him.

"Are you worried he will tell her the King of the Khazad is an ogler?" She honestly shouldn't have. He looked almost miserable by then. He gave her an irritated look but apparently decided to keep his gob shut. Wise decision. She wasn't the one sporting a black eye after sneaking in the shrubs.

"I wouldn't worry, he is probably just proposing," Wren consoled him and went back to patching his eyebrow. She didn't expect him to jerk and poke himself into the aforementioned brow with the needle she held in her hands. "Oh Maiar!"

"Proposing?!" He barked, and then immediately threw a concerned look at the Hobbit and the Dwarf amicably discussing Beryl's staff in Bofur's hands. Wren grabbed the Dwarven King under his chin and turned his face to her.

"Would you stay still? Or do you not need an eye?" She sounded very angry, but it was because she had just gotten very scared for the eye in question. He obeyed but continued to skew his eyes trying to see what was happening on the other end on the camp. Were he to receive a blow to the back of his head now, he would forever stay that way, for certain.

"My lord, could you please look at me? I am trying not to leave a scar here," Wren grumbled, and he tore his eyes from the conversing couple, though with difficulty.

"He is not the first one, is he?" The King suddenly asked. Slow, but not completely hopeless, Wren thought.

"I am quite certain Balin and Dwalin. Kili had a go, but he seemed to be more joking than being serious about it." The royal jaw once again succumbed to gravity.

"Balin?! He is older than me!" Hm, Wren thought, apparently the mighty King-in-Exile considered himself an old man. Wren would argue, but it was not the matter in question at the moment. "And Dwalin..." The King continued mumbling, his eyes astonished, and Wren snorted and went back to her needlework. "Nori was clearly heading the same way… And now Bofur..."

"Well, she is an enticing maiden. Why are you surprised? With the additional allure of her bloodline, she is practically a dream come true for a Dwarf," Wren answered absentmindedly, distracted by an especially tricky stitch. His skin was firm, much thicker than that of Men. Also it was hotter. Maiar help her, she surely didn't need this knowledge.

The King was silent, and Wren finally finished her work. She realised she had the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth, the ridiculous habit she had when concentrating, and she cleared her throat in embarrassment. She tied a knot at the end of the thread and suddenly realised that the King was studying her face just like she had a few minutes ago. She clearly imagined how he could see her disgusting freckles and the foolish turn-up nose right in front of him, to say nothing of her strange eyes, and her cheeks burned. She straightened up and jumped away from him.

"Well, my lord," now she was squeaky but at least her nose wasn't full of the spicy fresh smell of his skin. Maiar have mercy over her. "All done."

"And what about Fili?" Some new emotions danced in the King's blue eyes, and Wren blushed even more furiously. Right, that…

"What about him?" She shifted between her feet, and damn it, she was right. That was mischief she saw in the glacial irises.

"He hasn't proposed yet, has he? Even after you so deftly arranged her ride with him." The King slightly cocked the healthy brow, and Wren gulped. Firstly, the brow was muddling her thoughts, and her knees were growing strangely weak. Secondly, she was as guilty as a fox in the chicken run.

"Um..." She honestly had nothing better. And then she saw the corners of his lips twitch. Apparently he wasn't angry. And could smile teasingly. Well, at least there was a hint of a glimpse of a shadow of a smile.

"That is quite an ineloquent answer from such a wordy person such as yourself, honourable healer," his velvet voice dropped even lower, and curse her nose, it was now twitching frantically. "And to think of it I completely trusted all your arguments to why she had to ride with no other but my older nephew..."

"It was logical!" Wren squealed.

"Was it, now?" His voice was as close to purring as she could imagine, and goosebumps trickled down her spine.

"And it's not that he refused the offer!" Wren hissed defensively, and the corners of his lips curled up.

"He didn't, did he? After all, you were right, she is indeed an enticing lass." The King was now half-smiling, there was warmth in his tone, and Wren suddenly lost interest in this conversation.

Wren was used to admiring Beryl's curves and luscious locks, as well as the even skin and wonderfully rosy cheeks, but having him suddenly say it out loud… well, that simply hurt, and she hastily stuffed her supplies in the sack. And there she had always thought she was well accustomed to being the greenest apple on the branch. Well, not just greenest, let's face it, there was the question of the lacking size and the appalling hair colour as well. It was just that before it mattered not. She did not care, and it wasn't as if anything could be done about her loud unattractiveness.

A terrifying image flashed through her mind. Perhaps the King was the next in line of the suitors. She peeked and just to confirm her horrifying suspicion she saw his eyes on the Hobbit, some thoughtful warm expression dancing in his them. Wren felt sick in her stomach and rushed away. Breaking her oath under the contract and cowardly fleeing back home suddenly didn't seem like such an impossible thought. And then her treacherous mind pushed another excruciating thought unto her. Beryl probably wouldn't refuse. Who would, after all? Wren swallowed with difficulty.

She was shuffling away from the King and wasn't looking anywhere but under her feet. She guessed whom she bumped into an instant before she heard Beryl's voice.

"How much trouble am I in? I'm scared out of my gourd here." Beryl grabbed Wren's sleeve, and the healer lifted her eyes and met the Hobbit's terrified brown orbs. Maiar help Wren, the Hobbit was indeed very lovely. And lively. And a Dwarven princess for that matter. And good with a staff. Essentially, everything Wren wasn't. Wren clenched her teeth, took a measured breath in and reminded herself she was not an envious shrew, and Beryl Baggins was her friend.

"You are not in trouble at all," Wren softly patted Beryl's small round hand, frantically fisted around the handful of Wren's tunic.

"Come again?"

"Well, as I see it, you defended us when we were in a vulnerable position. And it wasn't your fault you hit one Dwarf and not the other. They both had no place to roam in those bushes. Just say you are sorry and if he gives you grief, remind him he was sneaking up on two half-bare maidens. That'll put him to order."

"Come with?" Beryl asked pleadingly.

Wren honestly wanted to help her friend, she knew Beryl was intimidated by the grumpy King, and Wren was often surprised that she herself wasn't, but suddenly it was all a bit too much for her. She decided she would allow herself one little moment of weakness. She had always tried to act with decency and would continue so, but the intrusive image of the King accepting Beryl's apology with a warm smile and then their conversation taking some unexpected turn kept on drilling into Wren's head, dull ache in the temple signalling the upcoming hemicrania, and the healer pressed her lips and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Beryl, I just need a moment… You will be alright, worry not," she tried to give the Hobbit an encouraging smile, but it came out rather shaky, "I swear he is more embarrassed than you are and will readily accept your apology."

And with the final nod Wren left the Hobbit behind and walked away from the camp. She just needed a moment to wallow in her misery and maybe cry a bit. Never harmed anyone.

She found a nice comfortable stump for herself and buried her face into her knees. Tears didn't come but, let's face it, she was not much for self-pity. If anything she felt irritated with her own stupidity. Falling for a Dwarf, and a King for that matter, was the most preposterous, dim-witted thing she could have done, possibly only less so than going on a long journey with him, and judging by the latest events, also in the company with a very desirable female Hobbit. Wren industriously thumped her forehead into her knees half dozen times and exhaled noisily. There wasn't much to be done after all, and she just had to do what she always had done in her life. Do her duty, be a good friend and a decent person.

She really shouldn't be wandering away as well, to think of it. She had that sword Beryl had given her strapped to her belt, but she honestly wasn't that good with a blade. Throwing knives perhaps, but as beautiful as this thing was, it would do her no good against an Orc. Or a bear. Wren sighed and sat up. It was time to go back to the camp and face whatever life had in store for her.


	17. Matchmaker Baggins, at Your Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give a hobbit an inch...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kkolmakov was kind enough to help me with this dialog. I simply adore her take on Thorin. 
> 
>  
> 
> Found on pinterest
> 
>  

Beryl approached Thorin with all the confidence of a woman approaching the headsman. Wren assured her he wasn't mad, but it did nothing for the butterflies in her stomach. She'd believe it when she was able to walk away from the encounter on her own two feet.

"Thorin?" She waited for his attention to turn back to her from where it'd gone trailing after the retreating healer. She wondered at Wren's stooped shoulders and flat step. What had her so down, especially considering… holy mothering mercy, was that a smile? Thorin was smiling. Time to mark the calendar again.

"Mistress Baggins?" Beryl was properly taken aback by the inviting smile and warm demeanor. She's dealing with feely Thorin, and she never knew how to handle that.

"I wanted to apologize, for the black eye. I had no idea it was you in the shrubbery." Seriously, seeing the same warm expression on his clock that was usually on Fili's was causing serious issues. It was like watching a fish swim through the air.

"It is quite alright, Mistress Baggins, you meant no harm and had every right to protect yourself. I am certain it will heal in no time." Thorin gently tapped next to the stitches, still smiling like a proper loon.

"Y'know… I can't help but think there's easier ways to spend time with our healer." Beryl cut her eyes towards Thorin to see how the words were received. His warm demeanor had sent her worries scuttling, and the inveterate matchmaker took center stage.

Still smiling, Thorin raised the uninjured brow in a familiar sardonic look. He wasn't quite to angry Thorin, but Beryl felt it might not take much to set him off. Unfortunately, tact wasn't her strongest suit. Plain dealing was.

"Are you not forgetting yourself, Mistress Baggins?"

"If I had any proper sense, would I be on this madcap adventure at all?" Beryl raised her hands as if to take in the rough camp around her. No Hobbit with sense would be caught dead camping rough. Hobbits were meant for cozy homes and warm hearths.

"You do seem to be fond of intruding where you are not welcome." If Thorin thought to scare her off track with his narrowed, steely gaze, he forgot which Hobbit he was dealing with. Like always, he managed to stoke her temper. She didn't have time now to be intimidated or scared stiff.

"Says the Dwarf sporting a shiner for that very reason." She huffed back quick as a shot. Her arms were now folded angrily in front of her.

"I was defending you from yet another suitor's advances, Mistress Baggins, I will not intrude anymore." She wondered if Thorin enjoyed looking down his nose at her. She was probably one of the few people he could do that to. Too bad it worked about as well as… wait, what?

"Another one? What in the world? No please, intrude all you want on that score." Beryl sputtered to a halt for a moment. She still didn't know what to think of all that Dwarvish nonsense, but she did know what to think of Thorin dragging Nori out of the brush. That wasn't just for her sake. Protecting Wren would have been a major factor, would be her guess. Beryl thought a moment, and a very impish smile took center stage and words fell before she could stop them. "So, what are ye gonna do about it, then?"

"About your popularity among my men? Nothing, I expect," Thorin now sat with arms crossed, and a rather peevish expression. Long gone was the smiling and warm Thorin of just minutes ago.

"No, I meant about a certain healer that thinks the sun rises and sets on your grumpy head." Beryl watched him freeze in place. She wondered if he was mentally indulging in the Dwarven equivalent of a happy jig. Not an image she needed right now. He'd never believe her if she broke out in silly giggles from the mental image of a jigging Thorin.

"Now, I see her interest in you, I also see your interest in her, but for some reason, neither of you see the other's interest in each other. So, I ask again: what are you going to do about it?" Thorin's steely mask wavered, the healthy brow twitched and the blue eyes focused on Beryl. He gave her a long evaluating look, as if measuring her up in terms of an open conversation, and then his face softened.

"Well, definitely I am not going to discuss it with you." Somehow the laughing wrinkles running from the corners of his eyes gave the lie away.

"So, ye gonna discuss it with her, then?" Beryl raised her eyebrow to match his, giving him his own look back. His lip twitch was back, too.

"Beryl Baggins, do not meddle in what you do not understand," he gave her warm laughing look. He then glanced at the woods where Wren's little figure disappeared, and there might have been a wistful sigh somewhere in the puffed up Dwarven chest. "And what is there to discuss..."

"Well, for one thing, the sad little look and drooping shoulders she was carrying just now, methinks she has the wrong impression from you, goodness only knows what or how." Beryl's look followed his, concerned for the healer. Seeing him still sitting there, Beryl elaborated for him. "So, go fix it already!" Beryl made shooing motions, as if scattering chickens.

"And have her think what of me?" Thorin sounded irritated but uncomfortable too. Clearly the man wanted to talk but didn't know how. They surely should teach them that early. "It matters not," he stubbornly shook his head. "Not that the truth is any better..."

"Thorin, what's really keeping you from going after her?" Beryl's voice softened, concerned.

"Beryl," he returned her soft tone and added in a slightly exasperated voice, "I see you mean well, but find yourself a younger man to matchmake..."

"You ridiculous Dwarf!" Beryl started to swat the King on the back of his head, only to find her wrist caught quickly before it even got close. Her lips curved into a wide smile. "Old, huh? Those reflexes don't seem so old to me." The King snorted and softly released her hand.

"Honestly? Have you not noticed her feeding your Daisy extra apples, or watching you with the sappiest expression I ever saw on her face, or making sure you get the first bowl at supper time? She doesn't want someone younger. She. Wants. You."

Thorin actually had his mouth open to answer something, but Beryl never found out what. A warg howl interrupted whatever he was going to say.

"No!" Thorin was off like a shot to the ponies. Grabbing one that hadn't been unsaddled yet, Thorin wheeled the pony sharply around toward the direction Wren had gone. He barked something in Khuzdul Beryl hadn't a chance of figuring out before she found herself in the middle of a Dwarven phalanx with Gandalf around the campfire, one of them kindly shoving her newly reinforced staff into her hand. Only, how was she supposed to use it one handed? Her left arm was still mostly useless.

Out of the evening shadows, several wargs and ugly as sin Orcs advanced on them, jaws slavering and eyes glinting with malice. She wasn't going to go down easy, and none of her Boys seemed inclined to do so either.


	18. Fracas and Frolics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I got a little Antsy. Enjoy the Fracas and frolics!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I got a little Antsy. Enjoy the Fracas and frolics!
> 
>   
> Image found on pinterest attributed to syncrpg.com

Camp had been made against the undercut side of a small hill, leaving only one side for the Orcs to come at them. They moved en masse towards the Company and created the impression of bowling pins in Beryl’s mind. Bowling pins, the thought brought a wide, wicked smile to settle in for the long haul on Beryl’s face.

 

“Heeeeeeyooooooooowhup!” All the Orcs and wargs turned to search out where the frantic whinnying and whickering came from before twenty ponies thundered down on top of them, some of the ponies still carrying saddles or baggage. Fili and Kili hadn’t finished picketing them before Thorin called the Company to arms. To compound the confusion, random blasts of light seemed to erupt from the ponies’ hooves, making them seem not quite of this world, causing warg and Orc alike to shy away from them. Beryl could only imagine Gandalf was to thank for that.

 

The disarray amongst the Orcs from the ponies and lightworks made it that much easier for twelve Dwarves and a determined Hobbit to turn it into a complete route. Beryl abandoned her staff for the cooking stones practically under her heels. A long history of baking and cooking left her palms practically heat proof, so she threw her fire warmed missiles at any and every vulnerable spot she could find. 

 

Kili had hopped up atop Thorin’s fallen log, and was feathering Orcs and wargs as the targets presented themselves. Bombur, who had been fixing supper, had only his massive ladle out. He still defanged a warg that wandered too close. Balin and Dwalin had taken up position around Beryl, keeping wargs and Orcs both at a distance. None of them cared for the bite of Dwalin’s axes or Balin’s mace.

 

A warg managed to climb the hill behind them, meaning to leap down on them. An arrow and Bifur’s spear found him before he finished clearing the edge. Bifur flung the warg off into the milling bunch before them, roaring something truly frightful sounding the whole time. Nori used the confusion of the ponies to slip in and amongst the Orcs and wargs, causing further confusion and mayhem as he went. Gloin and Bofur both had their long axes out, and were keeping one flank of the group free and clear. Fili and Dori, long blades whirling, protected the other flank.

 

The Orcs had no clear shot at them, and any attempt to get closer was met with a sharp rebuttal. Between Beryl and Ori’s wicked missiles (they had started a competition to see who could disable more targets) and Kili’s arrows, they were left with no means to press their attack. The Orcs and wargs milled in confusion. What were they waiting for? 

 

It wasn’t a what they were waiting for, but a who. It was so far the biggest, ugliest Orc Beryl ever laid eyes on. He seemed to be covered in what appeared to be ritualistic scars. They swirled in vulgar designs over his visible body. To take him down a peg, Beryl aimed a particularly sharp rock for his face. He swatted her rock away, but even he wasn’t quick enough to stop the second rock Ori had sent right in its wake. It split the skin of his piggish nose, and he stumbled back a step, snarling. He garbled something out in the most guttural and wretched sounding mess to ever assault Beryl’s ears, and sharply gestured what seemed a retreat, since he and his merry band left suddenly thereafter.

 

They did not leave quietly, and the Dwarves and Beryl held their guard long after the last snarl or swishing branches were heard. In fact, Beryl’s ears had been voted the sharpest of the company, and none of them let out a breath of relief until she called the all clear.

 

“What,” Beryl had to take a moment to catch her galloping heart. “What was that?”

 

“That was an Orc pack, lassie.” Dwalin was already setting up a watch pattern, calling Bifur, Nori, and Bofur to help. Fili and Kili were back on pony duty.

 

“And led by none other than Bolg, himself.” Balin was stroking his beard in a most thoughtful manner.

 

“This makes him special, why?” Beryl wondered if her Dwarves were always going to piecemeal everything out to her.

 

“It matters, dear Beryl, because he has a blood feud with the Line of Durin. I may be a while. Be sure to have camp packed and ready to leave upon Thorin’s return.” Gandalf left in a flurry of grey robes, disappearing into the night. The Dwarves and Beryl quickly started breaking down the camp they’d worked so hard just a few short hours before to put up, back when a good night’s rest seemed within easy reach.

 

Fili and Kili caught and checked the ponies over. Not all of them came out of the fray unscathed, and the worried looks the brothers exchanged had Beryl fearing some of the dear creatures might not survive the night.

 

“How many do we have left travel worthy?” Beryl hated asking.

 

“Sixteen safe to ride and carry packs, if Thorin’s mount comes back in one piece. The other four have some troubling injuries.” Fili inspected a warg bite on a pony’s haunch. “We were lucky they were focused on us and mostly ignored the ponies.”

 

“It sounds more like the ponies were lucky.” Beryl thought frantically. “Can’t we send for them, once we get to Rivendell?”

 

“There’s no guarantee whomever we sent would get here before something happened to them, Beryl. Anyway, if we can leave them packless, they should be able to follow alright.” Kili was cleaning another bite on another pony’s neck. It looked horrible. “Think you could stitch this for him, Beryl?”

 

“Yes, but you’ll have to sacrifice some of your ale for it.” Kili made a face at her, but produced a flask when she reappeared with her emergency sewing kit. Kili had to cover the pony’s eyes and hold his head while she stitched. Some of Beryl’s opinions of the warg as she tended the damage had Kili practically howling as he laid against the poor pony’s head. That poor dear was as good as gold while she worked, and got an extra apple for his troubles. 

 

“Any others in need?” She scratched the pony between the ears, leaning against the warm withers. 

 

“Nah, the wounds are clean, they should be fine ‘til Rivendell.” Fili leaned across the back of the piebald he’d just finished tending.

 

“So, what’s the story with the Big Ugly?” Beryl had the two youngests’ attention, and while they weren’t the gossipmongers Bofur was, they certainly weren’t as tightlipped as the elders of the group.

 

“How about an exchange?” Fili made himself comfortable on the makeshift fence they were using for the ponies. His devilish grin proof enough Beryl needed to tread carefully where scampish deals were concerned.

 

“In exchange for what?” Beryl leaned back on a burlap full of supplies that wouldn’t make the trip to Rivendell, arms crossed in front of her.

 

“You promised to share the nicknames you came up with for everyone.” Fili gently reminded her, dimples winking in the faint moonlight.

 

“Fine! Now spill it!” Beryl’s impatience had both scamps grinning ear to ear. She huffed at the pair of them.

 

“It’s not a pretty story, Beryl.” Warned Kili as he joined his brother at the fence.

 

“Neither are some of the nicknames, now stop prevaricating!” Beryl waved a ‘carry on’ at both brothers.

 

“After losing Erebor, Grandfather, King Thror, led those he could to take back Khazad Dum. Dwarves from as far away as Ered Luin and the Iron Hills answered. Our own cousin Dain lead a contingency from the Iron Hills. A dragon might be beyond the strength of Dwarves, but Orcs? That was a fight any Dwarf felt the equal to. It was time, they all agreed, to take back our first home, to take back Khazad Dum.” Fili warmed to his subject as he pulled out his pipe, preparing it for a smoke.

 

“And the battle was a horror the likes which none of us ever hope to see again in this world or the next.” Balin joined them out of the shadows. “You boys have heard the tales, many times, but I don’t think you understand, not like those of us who were there do, and I pray it remains so.” Beryl gestured to the pack next to her. It was more of the supplies that they were going to have to leave behind. It was the best seat she could offer at the moment. Balin seated himself next to her, and continued his story. 

 

“Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race, Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king.” Balin seemed not to hear the soft gasp from Beryl, and both nephews sat with their heads bowed. “Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief, he went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. Thorin rallied the troops, standing fierce before the wrath of Azog the Defiler, his armor rent, and left with naught but an oak branch against this most terrible foe. Dain was the first to his side, calling the Iron Dwarves to his standard. They were coming, but still to far to protect the kinsmen standing against the kingslayer. We were sure we were about to see the last of the Line of Durin.” Balin smiled. 

“And that’s when the Strength of Durin’s Line showed itself, in the midst of this horror. The Heirs of Durin shone like the Arkenstone itself. Even as Azog swung at Thorin, Dain took the Pale Orc’s head. The Orcs, seeing their invincible leader struck down, fell back in disarray. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived.”

 

“So, you didn’t get Khazad Dum back?” Beryl had curled up next to Balin as he spoke, hugging her knees tightly, her voice unusually small sounding in the still of the night.

 

“No, to go in chasing the Orcs would have killed what few of us remained. Even as the Orcs bore their headless leader’s body back inside, one among them swore to finish his father’s work, and that one you saw tonight, Bolg.”

 

“Well then, he’d just better get used to disappointment.” Beryl felt her temper stir. After everything her Boys had already lost- home, kith, and kin- she wasn’t about to let them lose a thing more. That was a promise she made heart deep and meant to keep.

 

“Now, what was this I heard about nicknames?” Balin decided to turn their thoughts from such sorrowful topics, and thanks to a wicked humor he seemed to share with the scamps, lit on the one topic Beryl just as soon keep from him.

 

“Oh mercy save me!” Beryl buried her burning face in her hands as the nephews nearly lost their perch in their merriment.


	19. See, what had happened was...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Thorin and Wren.  
> Cowritten with kkolmakov
> 
> image found on pinterest  
> 

A/N: Written with the help of the inestimable kkolmakov. We finally find out what happened with Thorin and Wren.

Thorin approached the camp with Wren on the saddle in front of him, Beryl saw one of the healer's hands clutching his brigandine. She was holding the Elven sword in her other hand, and Beryl saw blood dripping off the blade. Thorin carefully lowered her off the saddle before heading towards the rest of the Company, and Beryl just barely caught the small healer before she hit the ground. The slender healer was shaking like a leaf in a high wind.

"Is anyone… injured?" The bright white teeth of the healer were chattering quite loudly.

"No, everyone's fine," Beryl reassured her, and the healer sagged into her arms completely.

"Then I think I will faint now. Or throw up. I haven't decided yet." Beryl patted her back in sympathy.

The healer didn't do either, but it took everything Beryl had to drag her over to a fallen tree by the fire. Wren was shaking but refused to let go of her sword. Wrapped in several blankets and her cloak, Wren was clutching the sword to her chest, and Beryl only just managed to exchange it for a mug of Wren's favourite tea with honey.

A few first sips seemed to slightly help.

"There was a warg in the woods..." The healer's small voice was hardly audible. "It came out from between the trees..." Beryl sat down near Wren and rubbed her shoulders. The healer's usually red lips were pale, and Beryl worried over her dilated pupils and frantically beating pulse at her temple.

"You aren't injured, are you?" She looked Wren over, but the healer shook her head.

"It snarled at me and jumped… It happened so fast, I couldn't understand anything, and I just held the sword up, and it entered into the temporomandibular joint..." The healer blanched even more and gulped loudly. Vomiting was becoming more and more probable. "I've never seen anything that terrifying in my life. And I am afraid of dogs!" The little voice broke into a squeak. "Even wee ones like that!" She clumsily gestured something under a foot of length with one hand and her mug that sloshed tea. "And there was another one, and then Thorin showed up..."

At this point Wren's breath came in short frantic pants, and the mug was vibrating so much that it looked like she was watering her cloak with the tea. Beryl carefully pulled it out of the healer's weak fingers and set it to the side.

"He… He hacked it… It sounded so horrible! And I have heard flesh cut before, don't get me wrong... But this... This was… But before it he galloped by me on Daisy and grabbed me, and jerked me up, and I was in the saddle, I thought my head would get torn off from the jerk, and then he went whoo-o-o-osh, and... hack!" The healer's voice reached the highest pitch Beryl had heard from her. Beryl was put in mind of when Wren had her half a half a half.

Beryl put a comforting arm around Wren, and made soft murmurs as one would a child woken from night terrors, but the healer twisted out of her embrace and grabbed Beryl's shoulders with astonishing force for such small hands.

"It was not the worst, Beryl!" The healer suddenly shook Beryl so hard she felt her eyes were being used for dice. "It was horrible! Simply horrible! Hundred times worse than the warg" Wren again shook Beryl, rattling her molars like maracas.

"Gracious, Wren, what happened then?" Beryl was finally loosed from the frantic shaking.

The healer suddenly emitted a strange choked wail and hid her face behind her hands. There was some quiet mumbling from there, occasionally peppered with squeaks. 'Long sword,' 'hair' and 'so fast' was all Beryl heard out of the muttering.

"Wrennie? What?" Beryl peeped between the healer's fingers, trying to meet her eyes.

"He was just so..." Wren was now flailing her arms like a baby bird learning to fly. "And he just swept me! Like a kitten or something! And my head was spinning, and I'd just killed a warg! A giant warg!.. And the teeth!.. And the second one fell on the ground, and the head rolled, and did... pum, pum… It bounced, Beryl! And I just..." Apparently the healer finally ran out of air and froze with saucer wide eyes and fingers splayed in the air.

"What? Wren? Tell me."

"I kissed him!" The squeak was enough to knock bats down mid-flight. Wren looked completely traumatized. "I don't know how it happened! I grabbed his ears and kissed him! Have you seen their ears?! Oh Maiar help me!" That was the end of the healer's endurance, and she folded up with her face hidden behind her knees.

Beryl stayed with her, softly patting her back and murmuring words of encouragement. Inside, she was doing her own happy dance of glee. Oh, no doubt the two stubborn knotheads had a way to go yet, but the first important steps had been taken. Even they'd have to admit there was something there, if a kiss affected her this strongly. Now if only she could pry what Thorin was thinking out of him.

"I am going to die of shame…" The healer seemed to be calming down, at least the hiccups were subsiding. "How am I going to look at him now?"

"Wren, how did he react to the kiss?" Beryl decided to try her luck. Maybe Wren could give her an answer, maybe not. The healer groaned into her knees.

"He didn't have time to react. I just went for it… Maiar help me, it's all because of those ears… I could never stop staring at them… And he was right in front of my nose… And he is so..."

"Well, consider this, Thorin's first worry when the warg howled was your safety." That tidbit of knowledge earned Beryl one eye peeking over the healer's knees. "And you are the only everloving person I've seen that Dwarf smile for." Now Beryl had her full attention. Wren bolted straight up, staring at Beryl with her mouth hanging.

"Are you hinting?.. You are not… Saying… I mean, what you are saying…"

"No, Wren. I'm telling you. He's as strung up over you as you are him. Bet on it." Beryl's voice was firm and sure, leaving no room to doubt her sincerity.

"I'd laugh at your words, Beryl Baggins, but somehow it is not funny..." Wren pressed the heels of both palms to her temples. "Did I hit my head for good measure?"

"Wren, you did not hit your head, and you are not suffering unrequited love. That. Dwarf. Loves. You." Wren continued to blink in massive incomprehension.

"That Dwarf?" Wren pointed at the right Dwarf with her finger. At the other end of the camp where the Company finished packing and loading what gear they could take on the remaining travel worthy ponies.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King in Exile of the Longbeards. That Dwarf." Beryl was beginning to wonder if it would ever sink in, poor Wren.

"Well, now I'm certainly going to faint." Wren swayed slightly and folded back into her position.

"Thorin! Come catch her!" It was a hard thing, trying to sound alarmed when Beryl felt this giddy.

"I am fine!" Wren was immediately sitting straight, but it was too late. The Dwarf was already marching towards them.

"Wren's not feeling so well, I think it's shock. I don't think she'll be able to stay on her pony by herself." Beryl gave Thorin a Very Meaningful Gaze, A Foot Tapping Meaningful Gaze, even. Beryl pretended not to feel the dagger filled stare of one Upset healer as she waited for Thorin's reply.

"She will ride with me then," the King's tone was cold and business like, and Wren emitted a protesting whimper. "No time for discussion. The wargs and Orcs will be back." He held out his hand to Wren who for some inconceivable reason took it, and he pulled her after him to his pony. She plodded obediently, but not before throwing an 'I blame you for this' look at Beryl over her shoulder.

Beryl, of course, was too busy contemplating her own personal purgatory, namely riding with Fili. It was going to be a long night for her and Wren.


	20. Oh Tra-la-lalley!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our fearless crew finally make it to Rivendell. Enjoy! As always, thank you for the kind reviews.
> 
> image found on pinterest, attributed to amiroprotein of deviantart.  
> 

Riding with a still laughing Fili was exactly as torturous as she thought it'd be. One look at one of the other Dwarves was all it'd take, especially Bombur or Thorin, and he was off laughing again. Every so often, his own Dwarfish ears would peek out of those long lovely blonde locks, and she'd remember what Wren said about Thorin's. Beryl really hadn't taken stock before, now they constantly teased her. Confusticate Wren and her insidious ideas. It was entirely too easy now to envision grabbing those ears to hold him steady for a snogging he wouldn't soon forget. Yep, she had to admit to herself now, at least. She was properly head over heels for the golden prince.

Then there was the rumbling chest to contend with. It actually soothed her back somewhat, providing a nice warm massage, but it kept the butterflies in her stomach in constant flight. Of course his laughter was enough to set Wren glaring at them anytime she had line of sight, and remind Beryl of his ears again to boot.

Wren didn't yet know about the nicknames so she obviously thought Fili was laughing for a completely different reason. Beryl wondered what would happen if Wren ever heard her own nickname. The feisty healer might just approve of GingerSnap. Fili eventually decided discretion was the better part of valor, and rode back in the line next to Dwalin and Balin, who had less humorous titles.

It was a very trying ride, but it did eventually end. The last stars were fading from the sky when a hidden valley practically opened up at their feet with no warning. The company gazed in wide eyed wonder at the graceful trees, scenic waterfalls, and airy architecture that melded seamlessly with its natural surroundings.

Thankfully, they did not stumble blindly into Rivendell. The switchback trails were hazardous and confusing. Even Gandalf, who had rejoined them sometime around noon looking haggard and worn, wasn't completely confident as to which trail safely led to the Last Homely House.

"Well, isn't this a party to excite gossip for weeks to come?" The speaker was a dark haired elf with a warm smile and laughing grey eyes. Behind him the rest of his group called out jokes and welcome amidst raucous laughter and jocular song. The merrymakers were having a picnic party under a spreading oak near the entrance. A large tapped barrel behind the speaker provided a clue to the band's jovial and familiar attitude.

"One does wonder how Gandalf ever pried Beryl out of her smial." That perked Beryl's ears up. Who was she that elves would bother to gossip about her?

"Or how a mild healer of Bree found her way here?" Beryl watched Wren's head come up at that. Gandalf was talking to the elf that greeted them. The elf agreed to lead them into Rivendell, and everyone was dismounting to lead the ponies down the narrow and apparently hazardous trail. This was going to hurt. Her back pinged bad enough with Fili to lean back against, but walking all the way to the Last Homely House? She wasn't looking forward to it.

Fili must have seen some of her consternation. "Beryl, you know I'd be happy to carry you, if your back gets tired?"

"No, thank you, though. If it isn't safe for the ponies to carry us, it certainly isn't safe for you to carry me. I'll be fine." Beryl was quickly swept off her feet with an indignant squeak.

"Come, Beryl Baggins. We know of your injuries, and an elf is more surefooted than any dwarf or pony."

"Why you pompous…" Beryl didn't get any further, as Gandalf cut in before she could verbally bury herself.

"Beryl, kindly remember you are in no shape to walk, you are a guest, and he is only trying to expedite your trip to the infirmary." Thankfully, the elf carrying her chose to be amused by Beryl's furious pout, and never seemed to notice the three death glares boring holes in his back from her two guardians and Fili.

While the elf lightly traipsed down the narrow path, the Dwarves, being wider built, had to tread carefully. The Dwarves also had the added burden of watching their ponies' footing as well. The narrow path was enough to cause palpitations. The narrow stone bridge across the river was a heart stopper.

The glib elf prattled merrily about everything and nothing as he all but danced across the smooth wet marble. Beryl's heart skittered in terror as Her Boys crept carefully across the slick, railless bridge. What insanity believed a narrow marble bridge low enough to be bathed in river spray was a good idea? Apparently, the Last Homely House wanted few visitors.

The trail finally opened up, and the elf passed Beryl off to Fili with a low bow and a knowing smirk. Beryl's heart sped up for no apparent reason, even as she felt herself relax into the Dwarf's arms. Beryl didn't care for the grin on Wren's face, or the considering look Thorin kept throwing her way. Didn't those two have their own concerns to iron out?

Elrohir, their guide, called a melodic greeting in what she was sure was Sindarin to several others carrying out mundane tasks on the veranda as they made their way up to the impressive edifice. If that were a homely house, Beryl wasn't sure she could stand whatever elves took for grand or imposing.

Elrond himself came out to greet their footsore band. He chatted amiably with Gandalf and Elrohir, who she now learned was one of his twin sons. All that aimless chatter he insisted on, and that little fact escaped mention. Beryl wondered at it, and silently thanked Gandalf for his timely intervention.

The company was soon sorted out, and Fili, still carrying Beryl, followed a green robed elf to the infirmary. He stayed long after both Balin and Dwalin were satisfied she was being properly treated for her lingering injuries from the Troll encounter. She didn't mind, much. Fili was good company. He was, next to Bofur and Kili, an excellent accomplice into the bargain. Which Beryl was about to put to good use.

"Think you could find your way to the library here?" Beryl burrowed deep into the pile of goose down pillows. Already she could feel her back relaxing. The painful twinges would soon be little more than a cautionary memory to not meddle in the affairs of Trolls.

"How do you even know there is a library?" Fili sat next to her in a delicately carved chair. It amazed her slightly when the chair did not fall to pieces when the sturdy weight of the dwarf settled on it.

'Are you joking? Look at this massive place full of emmmm, cultured elves." Beryl thought better of the word 'snooty' the minute the healer came back in the room. No point in insulting their hosts. The medicines they insisted would help her heal faster could quickly quit tasting so refreshing if she irked them enough. "If there isn't a library, I'll forego second breakfast for a week."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. Is there a particular book you're looking for?"

"Filli, we're off to tangle with a dragon. I need all the dragon lore I can find. Surely something in there will help me figure out how to manage this unmanageable task."

"Alright, I'll ask around, see if Elrond's library holds any dragon lore for you." Fili's eyes danced. "Anything else before I go?" She could tell he thought he was simply humoring her. She decided to burst his bubble, just a touch.

"Yep." Her slow grin spread ear to ear.

"What is it?" Suddenly, Fili's voice sounded cautious. Whatever could he be thinking?

"When you and Kili do get around to pranking Elrohir, I wanna watch!" She laughed at his open mouthed surprise. She was pretty sure Fili already had a half dozen plans to prank Elrohir like no tomorrow. Prank plans she was sure Kili, Bofur, Nori and even quiet Ori would be too happy to help bring to fruition. She meant to see at least some of the fall out. Something in Elrohir's manner, maybe in the tales he chose to share, told her he wasn't above a prank or two himself. She saw the makings of an epic prank war.


	21. Prank Wars and Dragon Lores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in Rivendell, stays in Rivendell.
> 
>  
> 
> Found on Pinterest, attributed to hvit-ravn.tumblr.com  
> 

Elrond had graciously agreed to put them up for the two weeks it'd take for Beryl's injuries to heal. Already the strength was returning to her left hand, and she could move around longer before her back started complaining. So she was quietly sitting on a breezy balcony when the most stunning sight greeted her disbelieving eyes. She never thought she'd live to see such a day.

She saw a harried and disarrayed elf. It was Glorfindel, soaking wet and covered in pond scum and frog spawn. The prank war that had been raging the entire week had finally claimed its first collateral damage. He looked at her, his mouth moving silently. Finally, as the color crept up his perfect cheeks, words took shape. "I have endured war in all its horrors, faced down the foulest perversions Sauron could manifest, and yet all of it pales in comparison to the humiliation I now bear in my own home."

"Oh, Glor, surely it's not that bad?" Beryl tried valiantly to keep her voice level, the poor blonde Elf looked on the brink as it was.

"Frogs are hatching in my hair, Beryl. Do I look like the Brown Wizard to you?" Glorfindel stomped off to the bathing chambers. Beryl held her breath a long while before she let her laughter ring out loud and merry. Had Elrond any idea what havoc succoring Her Boys would bring upon his house? Could Imladris survive the rest of their visit?

It started mildly enough with Elrohir and Elladan finding their weapons covered in fresh pine sap and chicken down. Fili and Kili then found garter snakes nesting in their gambesons as retaliation. Dori was now making them new ones, as trying to remove a snake ball ended with a snakey gaseous assault. Apparently, the snakes produced a noxious odor that could put even orcs off their feed.

It did not take her prankster pair long to respond in kind. The twins were truly puzzled when they suddenly found their favorite hunting boots too big and their protective leather leggings too tight. She's still waiting to hear how the pair pulled that off, but she was willing to bet it required Nori's stealth and Bifur's legendary leather crafting skills. Today, whatever it was, ended with poor Glorfindel wearing most of the ornamental pond. Beryl shook her head and buried her nose back in the book she found.

It was an account of a cold drake that had attacked and killed a Dwarven king named Dain and his son. A name caught Beryl's attention, Thror. She needed to find Balin. It seemed this wasn't the first time this family faced dragon issues.

It took her the better part of two hours before she found Balin taking his leisure in a shady nook of one of the many garden spots Rivendell boasted. "Balin? Do you have a moment? I have questions, and it may be a tender subject."

"Yes, Lassie, I have time enough for you. What have you found?" Balin shifted on his bench, making room for Beryl to sit next to him, as he continued to puff contentedly on his pipe.

"It's an account of a cold drake, named Scatha…"

"Oh Lassie, you have been digging, haven't you? Aye, the Thror of that sad tale is indeed the same Thror that is grandfather to Thorin." Balin nodded sagely to Beryl. "What is your question?"

"Are dragons just out to get his family? I mean, chased out of the Grey mountains by one, just to have another come calling once he's made a home in Erebor?"

"It was more a happy accident for the First Enemy, than any intentional design on his part." Balin puffed thoughtfully, but catching the confusion on Beryl's face, decided to elaborate. "The First enemy, known either as Melkior or Morgoth, was Sauron's master. Surely even as sheltered as you were in the Shire, you've heard of him?" He waited for Beryl's slow nod.

"Neither of them were capable of creating anything living. They could twist, and they could corrupt, but were incapable of creating on their own. That is why it is whispered Orcs and goblins are twisted elves, and why Trolls return to stone when struck by sunlight." At Beryl's startlement, Balin nodded. She settled and waited for him to continue. "No one is sure what Dragons were before their meddling, but when they were done, they were fearsome shock troops that tore easily through the ranks of the First Alliance.

That war was hard won, seeing the fall of many brave heroes, including our own Durin the Deathless. In the intervening years, the Dragons thrived without a master, and found comfortable homes in Dwarven halls once they'd evicted the current tenants. It was yet another savage war, only fought beneath the mountains, far from the prying eyes and cares of the other races. Eventually, the number of Dragons dwindled, but not without cost to the Dwarves, Durin's Folk bearing their share. Scatha was one of the last. He came down upon Dain's people, and he, his son, and the guard held the dragon at the gate long enough for the rest to evacuate, but they died there of their wounds. Scatha earned a pile of gold and empty halls to rest his mortal wounds upon.." Here Balin gave a sardonic huff. "He was robbed of that peaceful death by a brash human named Fram.

"That man then had the gall to send a necklace of Scatha's teeth with an insulting missive to enrage the Longbeards. The Longbeards rose up in anger as he planned. Fram lost everything, including his life, and his people were left a scattered remnant without even a clan name to hold them together.

"Dain and his son were laid to rest in stone as was proper, and we had regained our wealth enough to rebuild our kingdom. However, sorrow, pain and anger had soaked deeply into the stone of the Gray mountains, that none of Thror's people wanted to stay, especially with threat of another Dragon attack so close. Thror moved his people to Erebor, and we thought we'd found peace and safety at last. Smaug proved us wrong."

"Incredible. What's this bit about 'rings lost to dragon fire?'" Beryl pointed to the passage, now that she had the full story of Thorin's family and Dragon attacks, she was ready to explore some of the other interesting tidbits that had caught her eye.

"Ah, now that is an interesting tale. Sauron, through guile and crafts, sought to entrap the seven Dwarf lords with magic rings. The rings, however, did not work on Dwarves as it did the nine kings of Men. The men, some of them strong and fair at first, eventually became twisted shades at Sauron's every beck and call. The Dwarf lords never lost their will, though some claim they became almost as greedy as Dragons under the rings' influence. The rings were certainly useful in finding the best veins of precious metals and gems. Whether it was simply the assumption of those jealous of the Dwarf lords' riches, or an actual change in character of the ring bearers, none can now truthfully say. What is unquestionable is that they never bowed to Sauron's will."

"Although, considering four of them were eaten or melted by dragons, one could assume they were Dragon beacons."

"Wait, dragon fire can melt a magic ring?" Beryl winced as her voice squeaked shrill enough to grate on her own eardrums. Balin merely smiled at her.

"Lassie, as far as I know, there is precious little Dragon fire cannot melt."

"Then how does one fight a dragon?" Beryl huffed as she closed the tome in a loud 'whump.'

"That's not what we're after, Lass. All we need is the arkenstone. If we can sneak it out of the hoard, then we can call enough help to take back Erebor." This had been explained before to Beryl, so Balin was a little patronizing this time. He leaned back a little as she narrowed her gaze and glared at him.

"But we need a backup plan! There's every chance that simply taking the arkenstone will wake that beast, and then what?" Beryl and Balin's heads both jerked in the direction of the twin wails that were quickly growing louder, and then ended with a slurping splash. They quickly hurried toward the sound.

There, in a giant mud puddle that used to be a practice ring, laid two very muddy Dwarf princes, thick rivulets of the gloppy mess running over and around them.

"What happened to you two?" Beryl managed to gasp out between gales of laughter. If she hadn't been clinging to Balin's arm, she might have joined them. Someone had greased the path to the practice ring.

"I think, brother, it is time to up our game." Fili flicked a mudsoaked braid out of his face, in a vain attempt to somewhat clear it of the muck. His voice was oddly calm and deliberate.

"I'm with you. What's your plan?" Kili managed to crawl halfway to his feet, before losing purchase in the mud, and sinking back down almost to his chin.


	22. The Prank War Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broom closets, prank finales, and goodbyes, oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe you people an apology. All's I can say is life got busy. Ten hour workday kinda busy.  
> But, as we've had some surprise expenses, I can't really complain. So very sorry I kept you all waiting on an update.
> 
> Still from the movies, found on pinterest.
> 
>   
> Just what are you up to with that rope, Fili?

Broom Baggins XXII: The Prank War Ends  
  


The next week passed fairly quietly, and the twins were not sure if this meant they won the prank war, or if the dwarf princes were biding their time. They went from pompous preening dandies to nervous wrecks in the space of an hour. Doing nothing may be the best prank Fili and Kili ever played on the twins. She also knew they'd never leave it at just that. She'd seen them with their heads together with Nori once too often to believe it was over. She'd bet her share of the expected treasure they were planning some grand finale for the morning they were scheduled to leave.

Even with the lull in activity, the week had been eventful. Elrond had read the runes on the blades from the Troll Hole, telling them their names and histories. Ocrist and Glamdring, Thorin and Gandalf's blades, had quite the history during the first war. They'd been lost for an age, and to suddenly be found, made Beryl wonder what was afoot for them all. She also wondered if the blade she'd given Wren had such an interesting past, but even Balin scoffed, teasing it was just a letter opener.

After that, she didn't even mention her own newly rune covered staff. She hadn't wanted her lovely staff called no better than a thumping pole used for laundry. She'd see what she could find on her own in the library, or tackle Lord Elrond when the peanut gallery wasn't about.

She'd also found her thirst for knowledge made her unpopular. Whenever she found even a scrap she'd thought might help against Smaug, she'd track down the nearest relevant personage to pepper with questions until said person was exhausted. People had started avoiding her, or, in Lord Elrond's case, distracting her. His youngest foster, Estell, was a very distracting ten year old, and Beryl was a pure sucker for youngsters. She'd found herself doing everything with the youngling from chasing fireflies to painting sunsets.

Today found Beryl meandering a breezy walkway with her nose buried in yet another tome almost as big as she was. She didn't look up until she bumped into someone.

"Beryl! It is usually considered good manners to watch where you place your feet, as it avoids such embarrassing situations as nearly knocking people over!" Wren was angrily rubbing her arm, where the corner of the book had jabbed her.

"Sorry Wren. It's just, we're leaving soon, and I don't feel any closer to a solution than when we came here. I refuse to just 'wing it' when it comes to large firebreathing lizards that can crisp me and my boys."

"That is an understandable, even admirable aim. However, I do not believe researching requires walking while reading, now does it?"

"No, I suppose not." Beryl cut her eyes slyly over to Wren, a slow grin sliding into place. "Talked to Thorin yet?"

"About?" Wren began to fidget. She knew where this conversation was going, and she really did not want to have it now.

"The fact you two are completely enamored with each other?" Beryl prodded.

"No, and you and I are not going to discuss it now, either!" Wren was furiously stabbing her finger in the nosy hobbit's direction. Beryl was probably one of the few people who could safely grin ear to ear while she did so.

"Wren, at some point, you two need to talk about it. You cannot keep leaving it, and exchanging no more than three sentences at any one time does not count as talking."

"I am not having this discussion with you now!" Rather than answer her, Wren flung open the nearest door to escape the breezeway that had suddenly become too crowded with just one hobbit on it.

Except, it wasn't a door to the interior. It was a broom closet. Wren had just trapped herself. Beryl stood there for a moment, expecting her to emerge red faced and flustered, but she didn't. Perhaps Wren was too flustered and embarrassed to face Beryl again.

Beryl slowly ambled on down the breezeway, her book reopened and the salient passage revisited. She wondered how anyone could possibly know just where Smaug was hatched. What was the basis for this claim? Who could she ask? She heard a familiar heavy tread behind her, and she turned to look.

Just as her eyes lit up and her mouth opened to ask Thorin, he yanked open the same door Wren had used, and disappeared inside it. Beryl stood there, dumbfounded for all of five seconds. Then a devious smile wormed its way into place, and decided to take up permanent residence.

She looked around. Surely there was something handy she could use to ensure the couple some quality private time? There it was. A bit of whittling left abandoned on the railing. It was the perfect shape to wedge a door shut. Beryl swiftly shoved it into place, and continued down the breezeway with a lighter step.

She wondered if Elrond or Gandalf one could tell her if there was any way to verify Smaug was hatched by the fires of Mount Doom or not. If so, what did it mean for successfully fighting him? She wondered if it were possible to reroute the River Running and drown the old fire belly. It was too bad Lord Elrond saw her coming.

She spent the rest of the afternoon making a recuperating hutch for an injured chipmunk Estell had found. The only other thing of note to happen that day was the late arrival of one King in Exile and Bree healer to dinner. Both of them looked disheveled, giddy, and eyed each other like they were the evening's repast. Beryl did her best to hide her snickering in her napkin.

It was too early in the morning to be awake, yet the moon runes Lord Elrond found on the map were clear: if they were not at the right spot come sunset of Durin's Day, they'd have to wait a whole year for their next chance.

So the entire company found themselves in the wet dew and gloom of the predawn hours. The moon had yet to set, even. Thorin meant to take no chances, they were going to be at the back door to the mountain by Durin's Day. Beryl looked over the line as they started to move out. There was Thorin, head of the line, of course. That widest shape must be Bombur. It amazed her every time how easily he rode, despite his apparent ungainly bulk. Dori there, adjusting Ori's collar again. Bifur's outline was unmistakable even in this gloom. It was almost as hard to miss as Bofur's hat. As Beryl's eyes moved down the line, it occurred to her who she didn't see.

She didn't see Fili, Kili, or Nori for that matter. She had just enough time to notice they weren't there before Nori was scurrying back, and slung himself lightly into the empty saddle just ahead of Dori. Fili and Kili were only a little slower joining them. They quickly mounted their ponies and joined the discussion like they'd always been there.

The reason for their quick appearance and hurried nonchalance became all to clear as twin wails filled the cool early morning as two white chargers in tandem harness galloped past them, pulling two mattresses still carrying the twins…...who apparently favored pajamas with a bright paisley pattern.


	23. Closet Closure the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kkolmakov wrote us two chapters of closeted fun, so here you go. Don't miss either one of them!

Written by kkolmakov

Here was the Hobbit, coming up to him again. And again, with a book. And no doubt with another hundred of questions. Thorin felt immediately and acutely irritated. He inhaled, preparing to rebuke her as usual, but then he clenched his teeth and grabbed the nearest door handle, jerked it, and marched inside, smashing the door behind him.

It was a broom closet. Thorin's first thought was that, thank Mahal, no one would know of this embarrassing incident, when he realised that the small room, with some tools and buckets and crates neatly arranged by the wall, had a small window by the ceiling, which allowed him to see that the space was also occupied. By none the other than the healer he was unfortunate to refuse a spot in his company in Bree.

She was sitting on a crate, her pointy chin on her hands, elbows into her knees. Probably painfully poking them, since she seemed to be all made of angles and bony joints.

She was seemingly lost in her thoughts and jumped at least a foot up on her box when he closed the door behind him. They stared at each other, he was internally wondering whether it had been one of the Hobbit's elaborate schemings, she was looking at him wide eyed, like a terrified rabbit.

"Good day, my lord," her squeaky and inappropriately courteous greeting made him smirk.

"Good day to you too, honourable healer. What are you doing in a broom closet?" He asked conveniently forgetting he was in the very same closet.

She predictably blushed, she seemed to do a lot of it, and chewed on her bottom lip. The lips were red and the bottom one was plump and curved, and something oddly crackled in his head, like sparks from a flash fire. Curse these strange sensations he seemed to be getting on this trip! When had he started noticing women's lips in general?! Her turn up nose twitched, and instead of leaving, he tilted his head and asked slyly.

"Are you hiding from another of Mistress Baggins' talks?" He drew the last word out, and the healer twitched and looked at him even more flabberghasted. She looked rather mortified.

"Um… No..." And she was apparently a poor liar. He kept silent. He knew how intimidating such behaviour was, people tended to feel uncomfortable and elaborate, and submitting others to his will by sheer calm presence was one of his favourite ploys. The healer gave in faster than most. The cheeks started burning even more frantically, and she mumbled, "She just has these ideas… It is absolutely intolerable… I am certain she is just… Delirious..." The long fingers started fidgeting with the ends of a narrow leather belt, and Thorin couldn't stop staring at them.

"I am familiar with Mistress Baggins' ideas," Thorin's tone grew immediately irked, and he finally managed to look at the face of the healer instead of the small strong hands, which had been producing some strange tension in the back of his neck. This time the healer was a pale as the peaks of Misty Mountains.

"You are?!" She was almost shrieky, and he went back to imposing silence approach. People were indeed very prone into talking themselves verbal traps. "But… but… um… Surely, she has not shared them with you!"

"She has been doing nothing else! She is ambushing me around each corner, and then jumps at me, and asks what I am planning to do with this calamity!" Thorin's temper was rising, and he fisted his right hand.

The healer looked close to fainting. At least in Thorin's opinion. He had little experience with fainting women. Or any women for that matter. He gave her a cautious look. She was taking short breaths in, and looked like a Dwarf in a boat. Fighting nausea, that was. But then she finally managed to inhale deeply and decisively got up. There was very little room in the closet, and she ended up right in front of him. With just an inch of height difference between them, he was suddenly staring right into her strange eyes. She slowly exhaled, rounding her lips, which once again made him uncomfortably move his neck to rid himself of that strange tension, and she lifted her chin.

"I assure you, although Beryl has no business interfering into this, she means well. She might be..." The healer seemed to be looking for the right word, "Imagining some details, but she just wants everyone around her to be happy. Sometimes she just gets carried away, but she is one of those people who cannot stay away if something can be fixed. Even if they half fantasised it..." She finished awkwardly, and Thorin frowned.

He felt like rebuking this woman as well. Firstly, she had been hardly invited onto the quest, just like the Hobbit. Secondly, both of them kept on defying him and putting him into embarrassing position. The simplest example was him riding into the Elven home with a giant black eye. He even opened his mouth, but then… He saw mournfully lowered corners of her red mouth, long lashes, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and harsh words didn't come out. He made an irritated noise, and muttered.

"I just don't think she will find anything in her books. She keeps finding new stories, and then comes asking questions about this drake or another. I just need everyone to pack finally and go. If the Elf is right about the runes, we do not have much time."

An odd little noise the dealer made mostly sounded like she choked on a piece of food. He eyes grew even wider, and her jaw slacked.

"Drake? Oh… oh..." She quickly regained her composure though, and suddenly smiled to him. He had little talent in reading emotions but to him the healer looked relieved. "Oh, thank Maiar! You are talking about the dragon." He looked at her in confusion. What had she been talking about? The healer grinned wider and even giggled a bit. Thorin had to attest this giggling was worse than anything other. The vague unease he had felt before intensified tenfold.

"What were you talking about then, honourable healer?" Her very gleeful face a few inches away from him was endlessly distracting, he was only half listening now, but she just smiled more radiantly and curtseyed.

"I am sure it is safe to leave now. I am certain our darling Hobbit is gone now, and we both have matters to attend..." She made several small steps sideways and around him, squeezing herself behind him, clearly trying not to touch him, and still mumbling something about packing supplies, she pressed her back to the door and pushed.

It took him two seconds to realised that the door hadn't moved, because he was thinking about her backside pressed into that very door. Yes, it would be rather moronic to hide this fact. He indeed was.

"What?!" The healer yelped, twirled on her heels, bumped the aforementioned backside into him, didn't notice it, and pressed both her hands into the door. "What in the name of..?!" He slightly shook his head, pushing the thoughts of the backside brush to his hip out of his mind and pushed the door as well. It wouldn't go.

"Cursed Hobbit..." Thorin mumbled under his nose, and the healer whipped her head and stared at him.

"She would not! Why would she?!.. That is so childish! And not funny!" She was panting and smacking her narrow palms into the door, and he suddenly started guffawing. Cursed Hobbit indeed.

"Why would she lock you up in a closet?!" The healer hissed at him, clearly confused by his merriment. "Wait, she knows I am here too! What sort of..." Judging by sudden silence, glassy eyes, and half open mouth, the understanding was dawning at the healer from Bree.

Thorin honestly should have been enraged. Not only the behaviour was childish, just like the healer said, but also disrespectful. The Hobbit had no business meddling. But somehow he could not bring himself to be irked. The statue of the healer was a rather entertaining view as well.

"How could she?" The healer suddenly exhaled, and the lips trembled. "That is so unfair… I cannot even leave..."

Suddenly tears rolled over her eyes, and Thorin felt distressed. Just an instant ago he had thought the Hobbit's trick was funny and expected the healer to join a small laugh over it. Mahal forbid, just a few moments ago he not so secretly hoped she would enjoy this little adventure. Because, as stubborn and unresponsive as he tried to seem, he did hear everything the Hobbit had been pouring into his ears since the day they left Bree. And after a few of Beryl Baggins's observations were voiced, he had started noticing those details too. How the healer would throw looks at him, how she would always bring him coffee in the morning, and then again, the way her fingers would gently brush at his brow when she was examining the stitches… Blast it, she was now hardly containing weeping! As little as Thorin knew of females, that was not the behaviour of an enamoured woman!

"I can surely break the door..." Thorin mumbled. "It doesn't look very thick..."

"No!" The healer squeaked and sniffled loudly. "Then people will know! There will be noise, and we will fall out of the closet as if we were adolescents bussing in secluded corners!"

Thorin would like to say that was when the thought of bussing had even come to him for the first time, but that would be a blatant lie. The healer had had a strange effect on him from the start. It was not that she was distracting, like those half forgotten flames from his youngling years. She was… comforting. Kindred. And was producing the most unusual urges. Most of which included firmly grabbing her and pulling her closer. And also, had she not kissed him herself? She was obviously in shock then, it was right after a fight with wargs, and she clearly had never raised a weapon before in her life. She was shaking in his arms, and mumbling names of joints. He would still feel a small tinge of admiration for her, thinking back at it, even in the middle of a fight she utilised her medical knowledge and chose the weakest point on the beast's skull. And then she grabbed his ears, and her lips were on his, and…

He stirred out of memories of her mouth, and fingers tangling in his hair, and her further very enthusiastic actions, and watched her trying to pry the door open. He stepped closer and softly placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Let me try, Wren, I am sure..."

"Well, now you remembered!" She suddenly hissed at him, like an enraged lynx, and he met her narrowed eyes. There were still streaks of tears on her cheeks, but they were drying quickly.

"Remembered what?" He asked, realising that he had just winced from her. Given, he had never seen her like that. Eyes suddenly bright green, lips pressed in a furious line, nostrils flaring…

"My name! I am showing a bit of weakness, and suddenly you are condescendingly using it again! I do not need your pity!" She as much as spat the words at him, and turned her back to him. "'Honourable healer' is what you have chosen, and I prefer you stick with it."

Thorin immediately felt irritated. What was the woman even about?! He honestly could not remember how he habitually addressed her. She was 'Wren' in his head, but he might have been using the respectful moniker as well. She was a healer after all, and he hardly admired any other vocation as much as hers. Thorin sighed. All this matter of women's emotions was bewildering and rather annoying.

"Allow me to open the door, honourable healer," he underlined the moniker with his tone, and she made a scornful snort like noise and probably folded her arms on her chest.

"Help yourself, my lord." He was not sure he heard her right. He sighed again and firmly placed his palms on the door.


	24. Closet Closure Conclusion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter kkolmakov was kind enough to write for us. If you see this first, that means you need to backup and catch the first half of the action.
> 
>  
> 
> Positively scrumptious image found on pinterest. Attributed to durinheir.deviantart.com, however you can see the watermark for yourself (gift art, perhaps?).  
>  If this is the quality of work, hubba, hubba! Check them out!
> 
>  

Written by kkolmakov

And then a couple voices came from behind it, and he found himself with the healer as much as wrapped around him. He opened his mouth to ask what in Mahal's name she was doing, but she pressed her hand across his mouth. What was the woman thinking? They needed to call for help instead of keeping quiet. The Hobbit probably pushed a chair under the door handle or something of the sort. It would be easy to let them out, and he honestly didn't want to thank Lord Elrond for his hospitality by breaking door and furniture in his house.

And then he fully realised the position their bodies were in. She had one of her hands wrapped around his wrist, another palm was pressed to his lips, and her nose was as much as brushing to his. He saw the dilated pupils, her strange fire opal coloured eyes in front of him, and with their eyes locked they stood for a few instants.

One of them surely should have moved, they probably looked rather ridiculous at that moment. She didn't have to cover his mouth, he was hardly capable of pronouncing anything, not with the roaring of blood in his ears. And she could have released his wrist as well. Opening that door was the last of the things he would prefer to do with his hands at the moment.

The fingers twitched on his cheek, and she was slowly moving the hand away. The tips of the fingers brushed his beard, and he felt some sort of shiver run down his spine.

He had two choices now. He could let her move away. One last sane thought was thrashing in his mind that it would be an appropriate thing to do. His head felt hazed, but something about propriety, and manners, and honour was there, but he had just felt her palm on his lips, and these strange thoughts about her hands were visiting him even in his dreams, and he would not ever be able to even think back at those dreams. Beryl Baggins might have been right, whatever he thought of himself, the reflexes and instincts were none of an old man.

The second choice was easier and seemed significantly more pleasant. Wrap his arm around the healer's miniscule waist, pull her to him, and finally rid himself of these obsessive images. He was certain the reality would be so much more satisfying than his fantasies.

"Oh Maiar," the healer breathed out, "And I thought the ears were bad..."

Thorin did not get a chance to question this vague statement when the healer pressed both her palms to his cheek, quite obviously fondling his beard.

And then she blinked and her eyes lost the dazed expression. She clearly just realised what she was doing. The fingers that were previously curled into his whiskers twitched.

"Oh no..." Her voice was terrified, but the tantalising lips were rounded with a long exhale in the last sound, and that was the end of Thorin Oakenshield's restrain.

"Oh yes," he affirmed and pulled her into a kiss.

…..

If ever asked, he would not be able to tell how long it was until they finally slowed down. It started with a gasp from her, then they quite quickly understood the other one seemed just as hungry for more, and hands wandered, hair and clothes were pulled at, and then she twisted from under his greedy mouth and placed a row of small bites along his jaw. He heard his own loud growl, and he pushed her into the nearest wall. She made a happy little sound, the graceful arms went around his neck, and she attacked his lips with doubled fervour. And then he was the one pushed into the wall, and a glimpse of surprised galloped through his mind. She surely didn't look that strong, but maybe he was just very, very compliant…

She was the one to return to her senses first. The strong hands grabbed his ears, he couldn't say he minded, it reminded him of the post warg incident, but then she gently pulled his away. He snarled at her, he had not had his fill yet, but she was saying something, and he tried to concentrate.

"We should stop… We are in a closet..." He sincerely was trying to focus on anything but her swollen lips and brilliant eyes, but on the other hand, why would he?

"Perfect place for this..." He had his arms tightly wrapped around her, and suddenly she laughed loudly.

"We can be discovered any moment." He was starting to see that she was not playing coy, and he sighed. He surely wasn't done, and he also suddenly worried that it would be a single happenstance, and to test his theory he leaned in watching her face carefully from under his lids. The lashes fluttered, he felt the arms tighten around him, and she readily moved into a kiss. Perhaps, Beryl Baggins wasn't that wrong.

…...

Thorin's hands lay on the delicate jaw, his fingers under little ears, pink from the burning her had just felt under his lips, and he tenderly moved her away from his face and brushed his thumbs at the corners of her lips. She was panting and staring at him like at a diamond vein.

"Wren..." Something about saying her name scraped at his mind, something she had been distressed about before, but she seemed quite content with it now, and he enjoyed pronouncing it. He smiled to her. "I think there is a wedge under the door." She blinked several times, and something akin disappointment coloured her features. He quickly asked himself if she expected him to say something else. Apparently, since she started moving away from him, and the smile was gone.

"You should take it out," she mumbled, and the hands that were on his shoulders were sliding off as well now, and he grabbed her around her middle and jerked towards him.

Talking, the situation clearly required talking from him, but for the life of him, he knew not what he was supposed to say. Everything was clear to him. He loved her, she seemed equally enthused just a few moments ago. They had a quest before them, but if it were to end safely for both of them, she would be his, and he would be hers, and he surely didn't see anything complicated about it. But they clearly spoke different languages, and she had some strange ideas of her own, and he felt greedy to know what was going on in her head and irritated by her mind at the same time. He might not have been perceptive enough to even start understanding her, but he could see there was a lot to understand.

"Wren, we should talk..." He started, and honestly speaking, he had nothing to add to this, but thankfully that was enough. She was indeed a chatty one.

"We should!" She confirmed with a nod, but then the nose started twitching again. "But I do not want to… And I'm fearful… And kissing is so much easier..." She mumbled and suddenly rushed into his embrace and pressed her temple to his. "I don't want to know… And I do… But it is easier now until we discuss everything, and there are all those reasons why I am not good enough… And how you think it was a mistake... And Beryl was saying all those preposterous things… And the beard..." She seemingly got tangled into her own wordiness and quieted down, pressing into him. Her body was tense like a bow string, and he suddenly felt merry and at ease.

He stroked the back of her head in a comforting gesture. Silly woman, what had she been imagining in that giant head of hers? He felt thick silky curls under his palm, and then he slightly moved away and pressed his lips to her temple. She happily squinted like a cat.

"I think out of us all here Beryl Baggins might be the smartest," he jested and placed another kiss, this time closer to her ear.

"I was hiding here from her pestering me about you." The healer's voice was small and distressed, but she was not moving away, which seemed very promising to him. "I have told her of the warg fight… And apparently I have disclosed something when signing the contract, after ale..." That was interesting. Had she felt something for him then already? Thorin carefully moved her away from him and peered into her face. She had already realised she had spoken too much, and her eyes were shifting guiltily. "Maiar, help me, you affect me worse than brew..." She sounded sincerely upset, and he cupped her face.

"I am no less affected, Wren," he spoke tenderly.

"You are a Dwarf! Your race can outdrink anybody!" She gave him a disbelieving look, and he guffawed.

"I am in love, you nonsensical woman." She gaped at him, and he just let her gather her thoughts. After all, direct path was the shortest. Two blinks and a strange squeak somewhere in her throat later, she smiled to him widely and grabbed his ears. Apparently, that was now a common practice. He didn't mind at all.

"And I am with you," she announced gleefully, and he decided that was very much enough talking.

…..

They were released out of their prison half an hour later by a courtier who opened a door upon hearing yet another broom being toppled over to the floor. They fell out into the passage, in a tanglement of limbs, since they had not even heard the door being open, and he had been leaning on it, while the healer was nibbling on his ear, and his hands were splayed on her perky backside. The Elf gaped at them, with his mouth half open ungracefully, and then with a hurried bow he disappeared in a side passage.

"Hm, I am not even embarrassed," his healer made an observation, and he laughed and pulled her to him. "I am too happy for it." She added, smiling to him blissfully. He pecked her lips and pressed his forehead to hers. So, he had been right, it was that simple.

"One thing though," she said after tearing her lips from his. He saw her frown and cocked a brow. "The Hobbit has to pay." There was some dangerous light in the healer's eyes, and Thorin felt even more enamoured. What a woman! Their eyes met, and he smirked to her.

"Fili?" He asked, giving her a meaningful look.

"Oh yeah. And no cozy closets for them. A barrel perhaps?"


	25. Birthday Interlude: Broom's List of Nicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday! Well, My birthday was last Wednesday, and in proper Hobbit Fashion, You all are getting a present!
> 
> Here is the list of nicknames Beryl gifted each of the Company with. Enjoy.

 

Beryl's list of Nicks for the Dwarves:  
  
Balin: Grand Uncle  
  
Dwalin: Berserker Uncle, previously Bruiser  
  
Fili: Blonde Scamp  
  
Kili: Brown Scamp or Cheeky  
  
Nori: Sneaky  
  
Dori: Fussbudget  
  
Ori: Bashful  
  
Bifur: Mumbles  
  
Bofur: Mischief  
  
Bombur: Lumpy  
  
Oin: Hardly "cause he can hardly hear, and hardly cares he can't"  
  
Gloin: Cranky  
  
Thorin: His Grumpiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and of course, Wren is Gingersnap!
> 
> There's also a proper chapter coming up, too, so don't miss it!


	26. Hills and Spills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real Chapter. If you didn't see the Nickname update, well, it's a Birthday bonus in honor of me birthday. Flip back one and laugh yourself silly if you missed it.
> 
> kkolmakov said I could blame her for the ebil cliffie, and I think I'll just keep right on doing that. Evil cliffie is all her fault.
> 
> image attributed to Ssilcatt.tumblr.com  
> 

 

 

A/N: The lovely kkolmakov helped with this chapter. She gave me permission to hang the evil cliffie at her doorstep, so I shall. It's all her fault, and in no way due to me being unable to well, you'll see.  
  
  
It felt odd riding her own pony again. She missed Fili's warmth at her back. She'd gotten entirely too used to being able to lean on that stolid strength anytime she felt like it. She didn't particularly care for what that thought implied about her relationship with him. That was another sticky point. Just when she'd started getting comfortable around him, she had to go and fall in love with him. Now, she felt unsure how to act around him.  
  
She could handle anybody's emotional aggro but her own. It was one reason she dove headfirst into managing Hobbiton like she had. The more time she spent handling everyone else's business, the less time she had worrying about her own. It was a situation to everyone's benefit. Now she had plenty of time to wonder about the question of Fili, and there was plenty to wonder about.  
  
Her own newly found reticence in his presence aside, they'd spent less time together in Rivendell than she'd thought they'd have. Part of it, she was sure, was due to her frenetic research and tongue tying realization, and part she could put down to his preoccupation with the prank war. Still, there were several evenings she found herself wondering why they weren't spent in each other's company. It was a trend that was continuing back on the road again. There was precious little to occupy themselves after camp was done and the ponies tended. She often found herself on the opposite side of camp from him, either drawn into conversation with Balin and Dwalin, or Dori asking her this or that about Hobbits and etiquette.  
  
In fact, there was almost a pattern to it. If Dori were busy, Gloin would find a reason to sit next to her and talk about her family history, or give her khuzdul lessons. If Gloin had guard duty, then Oin wanted to talk about different herbs Hobbits commonly used for colds and tending themselves. If Oin weren't available, then Dwalin wanted to practice her quarterstaffing skills. This usually ended with her begging Oin for bruise salves.  
  
One explanation for the new improved treatment was that she was no longer spending as much time with Wren. Wren had quickly made it clear Thorin was not a topic for discussion, so there went at least half the good conversations they might have had. Wren was also spending more time amongst the Dwarves. Now that she wasn't mopey or sad, she had charmed the whole Company. Balin and Dwalin had about decided Wren could Do No Wrong. It was almost comical. Thankfully, they only got a little of Wren's attention.  
  
No, most evenings, Wren and Thorin were wrapped up in their own little world together. They'd whisper and giggle together like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. The Company politely left them to it. Beryl wondered if some of it had to do with seeing the usually stern and mighty Thorin so relaxed and near giddy. A smiling and laughing Thorin was disconcerting. Beryl didn't mind too much, though. She felt somewhat smug about it all. She had a hand in their happiness. If only she could handle her own business as handily...okay enough thinking.  
  
They were slowly making their way towards the Misty Mountains. She'd found them imposing when they first arrived on the horizon. Now, a week out amongst the foothills, the Misty Mountains seemed no closer. She wondered if there were magic involved, or if they simply weren't moving fast enough. Bombur was riding next to her so she decided to ask him.  
  
"Are we moving that slow, or are those Mountains magicked?" Bombur looked at her somewhat askance, before puzzling her question out.  
  
"No lassie, they're just that far and that huge. We've a ways to go yet before they'll fill the sky, and then it'll seem another long time before we actually start going up, and that will again seem to take too long. The Misty Mountains are named so because they are so very high. They stop the rains from passing. That's why these foothills are so dry, and why we are carrying so much water with us."  
  
Beryl studied the distant mountains, wondering at the path they would have to travel to cross the massive barrier. How high up was the pass? How narrow would it be? What about the ponies? The ponies weren't a minor consideration, not in Beryl's mind. She'd spent time and effort on them, and knew their personalities as well as her own. Turning them loose to make their way back to Rivendell didn't sit well with her, not with as dry as these foothills were. She feared they'd never make it. They didn't know the land and weren't used to dry conditions.  
  
She was still pondering the pony question that night when she saw Bifur and Fili approaching her. Fili looked to be chewing on a secret, which set off all kinds of alarms in Beryl's head. She braced herself.  
  
"Good evening, what are you fine fellows up to?" Beryl waved at the sacks next to her. Some of the sturdier supply bags doubled as seating around the campfire. Bifur kept his eyes firmly fixed on Beryl's face, making her slightly more nervous as he seated himself to her left. Bifur had quite the stare when he wanted.  
  
"Fili, what is this about?" Fili had stretched out on the sack to her right, smiling indulgently as if waiting for the punchline to a joke.  
  
"Bifur has a question he'd like to ask, and wanted me to translate, since he knows your Khuzdul isn't quite there yet." He chuckled as Beryl groaned.  
  
"At the rate it's going, I begin to wonder if it ever will. I might finally be able to ask for the inn by the time I'm ninety." Beryl shook her head. "So, what's this question, then?" It seemed to be all the incentive Bifur needed to break into a long and rambling speech in rapid Khuzdul. Beryl watched him the entire spiel, then turned politely to Fili for the translation.  
  
"Well, short version: 'Will you marry me?'" Beryl felt her heart stop. She felt the last shuddering thump, and it seemed to wait for her to catch her breath before coming back to life with a vengeance. Her thoughts went careening twenty directions at once.  
  
Fili just asked her to marry...no Bifur had just asked her, using Fili to do it. That was a sheer bit of devilry there. Why would Bifur offer? Why would he ask Fili to translate? How should she answer?  
  
That was the real kicker: how to answer? Beryl sucked in a deep calming breath, and sternly told her tumbleweed thoughts to gather themselves. Deal with gently telling Bifur no, then that blonde scamp playing havoc with her feelings.  
  
"Bifur, I don't know how marriage and the feelings dealing with marriage are viewed by Dwarves, but for me, nothing less than romantic love will ever induce me to consider marriage. I care for you. You are a very dear friend to me, but I am not in love with you. I cannot accept, though I am deeply flattered." Beryl hoped it was gentle enough. Her voice had been soft and even, and she even held his hand as she answered him, her eyes never leaving his face.  
  
Bifur sat there a moment. While he could only speak Khuzdul, it didn't seem like he had any trouble understanding common. He nodded once before patting her hand and leaving. She was worried, but going after him would send all the wrong signals. Since he was gone, now she could vent her full frustration on the Dwarf most responsible for it.  
  
'How could you!" Beryl shoved, hard, sending Fili head over heels off the his sack. "Is everything just a game to you? Just another prank to play? You don't speak to me for weeks, and the first words out of your bloomin' mouth are another Dwarf's proposal! How could you!" Before he could summon enough wits to reply, Beryl made her escape. There was no garden here, but the ponies gentle company and the soothing smell of hay were the next best thing. Daffodil would even let her sit between her front legs, and gently wuffle her hair. Strangely enough, it often helped her put her thoughts in order. She needed all the help she could get putting her thoughts in order.


	27. Confidences and Comeuppances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren has some good advice for Beryl, while Fili waits to apologize.  
> Wren dialogue provided by Kkolmakov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry for the delay folks. There'll be two chapters for your viewing pleasure. Make sure you don't miss one.
> 
> Still from the movie, found on pinterest.
> 
>  

  
  
Of course, the first person to find her would be Wren, she of the happy relationship. The healer came up to her and quietly sat near. After a few seconds of silence, she gently bumped Beryl with her shoulder.  
  
"I am sure when you are ready to hear it Fili has an apology for you." Wren's voice was soft and warm. "Especially after the good earful he has just received from Thorin in the nearest shrubbery."  
  
Beryl rubbed her nose against her arms folded across the top of her knees. Listening and thinking. Out of nowhere, she offered. "Do you know, I can braid your hair as finely as Dori could, but can't braid my own to save my life? Tonight's like that. I can manage anybody's business but my own, and I've no idea how to fix it. Just getting an apology from him, I'd probably make a proper muddle of it." Wren chuckled softly and rubbed Beryl's upper arm with her small soft hand.  
  
"Not to burst your bubble, Beryl, you are not that good at braiding other people's hair either, but it's not the quality of the braid that matters. It's your desire to help. You are a good person, and hate seeing others in pain. That's why tonight was so hard for you. Because you felt sorry for Bifur, and Fili didn't do anything to make it easier for him. Which was cruel and disrespectful. Which is why if you listen carefully, you can still hear the King in the Exile roaring in the bushes like a wounded ram."  
  
"It's more than that, but I don't know how to put it all in words." Wren gave her a slightly mischievous look.  
  
"May it be that there was a second there where you thought that Fili wasn't translating? That one tiny moment when those words fell off his lips, and…" Wren splayed fingers in the air and made a small unimpressive noise mimicking fireworks. All Beryl could do was duck her head in her arms and whimper. Wren gently patted her back.  
  
"Right words, right mouth, wrong reason. For once, I never wanted to say yes so badly." Wren hummed agreeing.  
  
"I have been wondering for a while how you are holding on with all these proposals raining on you. You strike me as the type to wait for something more than a marriage of convenience." Wren suddenly emitted a small uncomfortable noise and squirmed on the hillock she was sitting on. "So, with all Dwarves proposing one after another I was just wondering which one you'd choose, Fili… or Thorin." Beryl peeked over her arms to see Wren looking rather uneasy and her turn-up nose twitch frantically.  
  
"Are you kidding? Thorin makes me more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Too intimidating by half, and he's nuts about you." Beryl sighed heavily. "No, the proposals I could handle. It hurt, but it was the pain of just telling a friend no, not… not what happened with Fili's little escapade just now." Beryl unwound enough to stroke one of the sturdy pony legs coddling her. "I figured out how I felt about Fili just before Rivendell. Then I got tongue tied around him. Conversations that used to be so easy just weren't anymore. Then he disappeared and wouldn't talk at all, and the first conversation we have in weeks, it's to deliver another Dwarf's proposal. Precisely how should I feel about that?" Beryl let her head gently thump against the pony's leg.  
  
"Precisely the way you felt before you knocked him off a saddle bag. Frustrated and offended. And with every right for it." Wren gave her a small melancholic smile. "As I see it, Beryl, perhaps you are not the only one tongue tied and confused here. It is indeed not very Fili like to behave this way. It was a wee bit too cruel for him. He is kind and considerate, and he surely could have done it differently. But on the other hand..." Wren suddenly shot an impish glance at Beryl. "I have a small story to tell you. Remember that day when you and Estell bumped into me in the garden in Rivendell, and you asked whether something was wrong, because my eyes were red, and then we both lied to Estell telling him I was having a reaction to those flowers?"  
  
"Yeah. I wondered about it, but figured you'd tell me when you were ready." Beryl patted the pony muzzle whuffling in her hair. "What had happened?"  
  
"Well," Wren shook her head good-naturedly, "I clearly do not have to explain to you that I was hiding in those bushes to bawl my eyes over a certain Dwarf. And what happened was he called me 'honourable healer' in a passage and walked by." Wren emitted a short silver laughter. "And it hurt so much! And you know why? Because then, at the very beginning, in Bree… He had been the first man in my life I allowed to call me by my name. And he just threw it aside like an empty water skin and stomped over my little silly heart." Wren laughed again.  
  
"I don't think your heart silly or little. Yet you're laughing now, so, what happened?" Beryl twirled both hands at Wren in a 'please continue' pattern. Wren widened her eyes at the Hobbit dramatically.  
  
"What happened is that he has no idea he is doing it. He switches between appellations, sometimes in the same conversation. And you would think "I am ticklish, honourable healer" would sound odd even to his ears, but he seems quite content with it." Wren snorted. "Every time I'd heard this moniker, I thought he mocked and humiliated me, and now I sort of like it..."  
  
"Hold on, I'm still dealing with the idea of a ticklish Thorin." Wren giggled.  
  
"He is. Like a child. One poke of a finger under his ribs, and he starts making these funny snorting noises..." Wren suddenly blushed, "Oh Maiar, we probably should not be discussing it. But my point is, Beryl," Wren's face grew serious, "They are men and Dwarves, and sometimes… Well, we just do not understand them. And also, the fact that Fili's behaviour was so out of the ordinary only confirms that something isn't right."  
  
"Right now, I'm so mad and so hurt, I even wonder why i fell for him in the first place." The grumble came from under a mop of brown curls deeply tucked back in the arms. Wren sighed.  
  
"I'm afraid even if you two find your happiness together, you will find yourself in this position many times again. Just as every woman does. They are rather infuriating, from time to time..." Wren pressed her temple to Beryl's shoulder. "It doesn't mean they are not worth it."  
  
"Since when did you get so relationship wise? Wasn't I helping you with heart troubles just a few short weeks ago?" Beryl smiled into Wren's hair. "Thank you, for everything."  
  
"I am very wise when it comes to hearts, Beryl Baggins," Wren pronounced in a funny theatrical haughty tone, "I am a surgeon after all." Wren giggled, and Beryl joined her. "It is the heads I am having troubles with. Mine wasn't letting me see what the heart had guessed a while ago. Yours… Well, here you have to decide for yourself. And you are always welcome."  
  
"Well, soonest begun is soonest done. Think Thorin's through with him by now?"  
  
"Well, I do not hear any roaring and raging, so it should be safe to come out. What are you intending to do?"  
  
"I honestly won't know till I hear what he has to say for himself." Beryl began the careful work of unfolding herself from the nest between Daffodil' feet.  
  
"Then it is time to go back and give him a chance to say something. And some of us will have to go mollify a huffing monarch." Judging by Wren's shiny eyes the prospective wasn't frightening her.  
  
"I still don't know how you manage that. Sure you aren't magic?" Beryl was feeling better. She even dared tease a little as she let the healer pull her upright.  
  
"I am not sure about magic," Wren twirled, patting twigs and leaves off her skirts at her backside, and straightened her little travel doublet. "But I honestly do not see anything intimidating in our dear monarch. He is a bit grumpy, of course, but quite a poppet." Wren giggled and then winked at Beryl.  
  
"Now there's two words I never imagined in the same sentence, 'Thorin' and 'Poppet'. I dare you to call him such, ever." As soon as the words left Beryl's mouth, she saw the eyes of the healer glimmer with some new confident light.  
  
"Well, not in front of his men of course, but who says I don't do it? What is whispered in the bushes stays in the bushes." The healer went so far as to stick her tongue out at the Hobbit and giggle triumphantly.  
  
Beryl shook her head at the healer, clamping her jaw tight to keep it from hitting the floor. "Okay, stop right there. I like my brains inside my skull, not leaking out my ears." They continued back to camp amicably leaning and giggling on each other.  
  
A very hangdog Fili was waiting at the edge of the camp, as if looking for them to return. Wren breezed by him, head erect, spine stiff, disdain and dismissal in her every line. If possible, Fili's head and shoulders slumped even further at her silent rebuke. Beryl watched as Wren linked arms with Thorin, and practically pulled him out the other side of camp, Beryl noticed they were headed well away from her and Fili. Balin and Dwalin were busying themselves nearby. Not so close they could hear what was said, but close enough to come running if needed.

 


	28. Misty Mountain Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili's apology doesn't quite cut it, then everybody gets swallowed by a mountain.  
> This is the second chapter posted today, don't miss the previous chapter!
> 
> image found on pinterest attributed to backpacksandmountaintops tumblr
> 
>  

 

“Alright, let’s hear it.” Beryl stood there, toe tapping and arms folded protectively across her middle. Her jaw felt uncommonly tense after snapping the words off. Fili’s chest visibly rose as he took in a deep breath to answer her, as if bracing himself for whatever she said in reply.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m not even sure now why it made sense at the time. He would have asked someone one else, and for whatever reason, I just…” He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t like the thought of another saying those words to you.”  
  
“So delivering his words yourself seemed the lesser evil?”  Fili flinched slightly at her scalding censure. He was miserable, even as mad and hurt as Beryl was, it was woefully obvious. It didn’t mean she was going to forgive him easily. It hurt, she hurt, and she was going to make it plainer than the dimples on his face her feelings weren’t some playtoy he could take lightly.  
  
“I didn’t think it through. I admit it, and I’m sorry. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth and saw the look on your face. If I could take the careless things back, I would.” His voice was thick and rough with emotion. Sad blue eyes regarded her earnestly, seeming to beg her to believe him and forgive him.   
  
“Well, as it stands, you can’t. We’ll both have to live with it, won’t we?” Beryl swept past him, and made a beeline for her bedroll. She knew it would be a long while before she actually slept, giving her plenty of time to resent this latest fiasco. It seemed the faint hope of returning to their easy camaraderie had been lost in one careless stunt.  
  
Wren was  supportive, and Beryl was grateful for it. The two would sit together in the after supper lull, talking about everything and nothing.  Wren would study her with those observant miss nothing eyes. The gentle questions were never too prying, but even in her funk, Beryl could tell the healer was worried, and looking for some way to bring the bossy Beryl back. It was throwing everyone off. Busy body Beryl had, for all intents and purposes, closed up shop and vacated the building. She’d seen more than one concerned conversation between Thorin and Wren with thoughtful glances tossed her and Fili’s way. He was another concern. Kili was ready to pull his own hair out in frustration. With the two of them acting withdrawn and sulky, the whole Company was off kilter.  
  
The Misty Mountains took their time about it, but they finally filled the sky with their cloud shrouded majesty. The Dwarves did their best to draw Beryl back out with their usual cycle of preoccupations, and she was never more grateful for it. Her Khuzdul grew, if slowly, and even Dwalin was pleased with her self defense progress. Pent up anger apparently had its uses.  In fact, she positively beamed the night Dwalin had to ask for bruise liniment after one of their sparring sessions.   
  
Beryl finally learned what had been planned for the ponies when they came upon a lovely campsite already waiting for them at the start of the narrow trail up the mountain. Apparently, word had been sent ahead of them. Beryl wondered how, until she saw a familiar pair of dark heads and fast horses. She groaned. The last thing this farce needed was a last hurrah of the all consuming Prank War.  
  
“Well met, Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You moved faster across the foothills than we’d anticipated. We did not expect you for another two days.” Elladan’s greeting held approval and welcome.  Already Beryl could smell the welcoming aroma of a good hearty stew over a  fragrant campfire.  
  
“We had little reason to dally, and incentive enough to travel swiftly. Durin’s Day will not wait on our pleasure.” Thorin dismounted and immediately set to tending his pony at the picket line the Elven twins and their small party had waiting. Elladan bowed his head at the King’s reply.  
  
“Then this news should cheer you. We procured pack animals for you suitable to the narrow passages of the mountain." At Thorin’s quizzical raised brow. Elladan gestured to the small, large eared, and bright eyed donkeys behind him.  The small mountain beasts of burden regarded him with the same skepticism, making Beryl hide a smile behind her saddlebags as she took them down.  
  
“These small things can bear our packs and navigate the pass safely?”  Thorin ran assessing hands over the little beast.  The donkey, for his part, seemed to lean into the Dwarf’s hands as if they were the sweetest of caresses.  
  
“Merchants traveling the pass before the dangers grew swore by the sturdy animals. Our Lord Father had us seek them out for you.”   
  
“Then we will accept their aid with thanks.” Thorin inclined his head graciously, and Elladan returned the gesture. Thankfully, it seemed the twins were much steadier in the field, and reserved their hijinks for the safety of Imladris.  
  
Morning saw the swift packing and harnessing of the small pack animals, while the ponies looked on from the picket line with interest. Beryl was sad to say goodbye to them.  
  
“Worry not, they’ll be waiting in Rivendell fat and hale for you when you return this way again.” Elrohir rubbed Daisy’s neck as he reassured the Hobbit.  
  
“Won’t keep me from missing their company. These sweet darlings have helped in more than a few ways.” Beryl gave Daisy one last apple, and rubbed her velvety nose with affection, and received a soft whicker in return.  
  
“Would that help include why there were injured ponies when you came to us?”  
  
“Yep, and somehow, a stampede of donkeys just don’t strike me as having the same stomping power as a pony stampede.” Beryl gave Daisy one last fond pat goodbye, and the pony nudged her hand for just one more.  
  
“They are bright and nimble. You would not have the Dwarves discount your usefulness. Don’t do them the same disservice.” Beryl really disliked when the Elves got all preachy and all knowy. It was hard to tell when they had real prophecy upon them, and when they were pulling a flim flam. With the twins track record, she tended to lean more towards flim flam. Even so, she had to agree there was probably merit to his words.  
  
“I promise to keep that in mind.”  It was finally time, and the Company plus pack laden donkeys started their ascent up the Misty Mountains’ narrow track.    
  
The mountains, Beryl decided, were definitely out to get them. The trails were narrow, pebble strewn, and treacherous. More than once a foot too close to the edge caused heart stopping crumbling. Then there were the random rock falls from above. Very little of this seemed to faze the healer. Beryl still hadn’t decided if she were part Fallohide Hobbit, or blooming roe deer.  The way she flitted lightly over the tricky footing and seemed to always be where the rockfalls weren’t defied logic. Despite the mountains’ best efforts, the Company made good time.  Then the rains and winds started.  
  
More than once, Beryl watched as Thorin held the little healer close to keep the winds and rains from washing her off the side of the mountain.  They were determined to muddle through, right up until the heavy booming laughter joined the thunder. There in the lightning flashes were giants throwing boulders to each other and laughing like children.  
  
“Fili! Kili!” Thorin roared over the maelstrom, impressing Beryl no little bit.  “Find us shelter before one of these giants kick us sky high for a football!”  Into the dark Fili and Kili went before them, passing with care all the Company in line ahead of them. Fili gave Beryl a searching look and a small nod as he passed her.  She couldn’t stand it and gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze before he passed her by completely.  
  
In the dark, with naught but the random lightning flashes and the roaring laughter of the stone giants to mark time, there was no real way to know how long they waited until Fili and Kili returned. They claimed to have found the perfect cave to camp in for the duration.  
  
“A cave, not but a few yards up the path, and it’s big enough even for the donkeys to get in out of the storm.” Kili was grinning ear to ear over their lucky find.  
  
“Did you check it thoroughly? It’s very unlikely to find an unoccupied cave in the mountains.” Thorin was skeptical.  
  
“We checked Uncle, all the way to the back and around. Now hurry!” If she hadn't been in a hurry herself to get out of the rain, watching the nephews chivy their uncle along would have caused a first rate giggle fest. As it was, she was just too happy to get in out of the rain.   
  
Soon enough, they were all snugly stashed in the cave that proved to have no other occupants than themselves. She was snug in her bedroll, and the donkeys were all blissful in their corner after a good rubdown and nosebags. She wondered, then, why she was dreaming of falling down a great huge crack opening in the back of the cave.  She woke screaming to being swallowed whole by the mountain itself.


	29. Down, Down, to Goblin Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter waited until the very last minute to let itself get written. Hope it's an enjoyable read anyways! Please tell me what you think about Beryl's handling of, well, everything!
> 
> because i've been so long away, i'm uploading both chapters kkolmakov was kind enough to write for this fic.   
> 

 

 

 For the longest time, Beryl couldn't make heads or tails out of what was going on. They were tumbled helter skelter down a chute, between the braying donkeys, roaring Dwarves, and more bumps and bruises than one Hobbit ought to have to count, she finally just laid panting a long while once they stopped in a pile. Unfortunately, they weren't going to be given that sort of reprieve. Before the world could stop spinning crazily before their eyes, they were grabbed and hauled down a rough ramp and thrown before a huge Goblin squatting on a pile of rubble that might be mistaken for a crude throne if you squinted very hard after a tun of good dwarven ale.

"Who are these miserable persons?" Beryl's ears wanted to crawl inside her bun and pull it in after them once that whiny, scratchy voice assaulted them. She might have heard something more unpleasant at one time or another, but it wasn't occurring to her right now while that grating sound lashed her poor eardrums. Even so, she was disoriented and angered enough she spoke before she thought, pushing herself up using her quarterstaff.

It was lucky they were thrown down atop their own obviously pilfered belongings. It vaguely registered that her staff's metalwork was glowing, proving it was proper First Era crafting. She pushed through the battered Dwarves to face down the Great Goblin.

"Well, we wouldn't be quite so miserable, if you were a better host! I mean really! No announcement, no warning, just dumped down a chute and pulled willy nilly till I know neither up nor down. Disgraceful!" Beryl pulled herself up to her full, unimpressive height, though the Goblins nearest her pulled back as if it were, and she shook her finger at the squatting toad of a Goblin king and delivered her most scathing insult. "Sackville Bagginses know more about hospitality than this!"

"What? You dare? What is this vermin before me?" Spittle flew as the Goblin's rage rendered him nearly incoherent. Dragons weren't the only thing in Beryl's studies amongst the many books of Rivendell. Goblins and Dwarves mixed like Aunt Bergamot's best brew and lit tinder. Explosively. The more attention she kept on her, the less they noticed just who they pulled into their mountain.

"I'm a Hobbit. Beryl Baggins of Bag End, but I'm most certainly not at your service. Hobbits have probably forgotten more about hospitality than you ever imagined possible. I mean really, was the pinching, pulling, and dragging necessary? Can you even speak without spittle flying?" That was probably the one thing too many. The Great Goblin roared, and backhanded Beryl with his clubbed scepter. She was able to duck most of the force, but it still clipped her hard enough she tumbled off the edge of the platform. The last clear sight she had was of Fili being dragged back from the edge after her.

Beryl slowly came awake, the aches and pains finally forcing her out of blessed oblivion. The mountain, apparently, is riddled with chutes. It was the only explanation Beryl had for her continued existence. Hobbits are sturdy folk, and Beryl had done her fair share of farm chores, but there's only so much sturdy can do against a drop from a great height. The pangs up and down her body made it clear it had come in rough contact with more than a few surfaces. She slowly made it to a sitting position, feeling the slow whirl that meant she'd given her head a good knock into the bargain. A faint blue glow a few yards from her let her know where her staff fell. As she crawled toward it, something small bumped her hand. It didn't feel like a rock or pebble, so Beryl tucked it into a pocket for later inspection.

She heard an odd sound ahead of her, and ducked into a shady crevice. She was thankful it was deep and tall enough to hide her staff from the whatever it was. A low muttering resolved itself into a voice that sounded suspiciously like a cross between a bullfrog and a snake.

"But no my precious. It wants to fights us and bites us, But we showed it didn't we? Little squeaker wasn't ready for how we squeezes it, no. Now we can eats and eats for a long long time!" the hissy croaky voice drew out the 'o' in the second long, almost warbling it into a song. Beryl's ears went on immediate protest, claiming that was too many distasteful voices in the space of a day, and threatened to go on strike.

She used the internal argument to pretend she didn't hear the sound of a body being dragged across the rough stones of the cave floor. What did catch her ear was the sound of splashing and paddling. Water! If there were a current, there was a chance it could show her how to get out, but how to get past the Hissycroaker?

Beryl waited until it sounded like the Hissycroaker had left the area, then tried to cautiously move out of her cubby.

"What is it, my precious? Is it another squeaker, come to be our dinner? Gollum! Gollum!" The horrid swallowing sound made the bile rise in the back of Beryl's throat.

Beryl stopped where she was, not even daring to breathe. She could see the thing's giant eyes glinting in the faint light her staff provided. Quickly, she whipped it around in front of her protectively. "Come no closer, unless you like getting thumped."

"What is it, my precious! I don't knows! It's not a squeaker, and it has a bright stick, a light stick. Oh the light burns us!" The thing scrabbled low behind a large stone, peeping carefully between fingers that shaded the oversized eyes from the enchanted lightsource. In the dim light, she saw a small, wiry frame of pale skin, which did nothing to alleviate the mental image of a frog crossed with a snake. Hissycroaker he would remain, 'till she knew any different.

"What I am, is lost. Will you show me out?" Beryl could tell she'd never find her way out on her own, and this thing was at least intelligent enough to gabble, though it worried her with this talk of squeakers and dinners. She didn't trust it as far as she could throw it. Which wasn't at all since she'd refuse to touch the scabby thing.

"Why should I, precious? Why help the bright stick?"

"Well, for one, I go, the light stick goes. So, if you don't like the light, I'll take it with me, and you can have your dark cave back."

"How comes it don't know the way out? Eh? It could be a nasty trickses on Gollum. Show his secrets, let the squeakers and the grunters has him." Gollum sneered at her over his protective rock, before ducking back behind its protective shade.

"Do I look like I hang out with squeakers or grunters? I'm down here because they knocked me down here, trying to kill me. Why on earth would I show them any of your secrets? They'd finish what they started if I dared try! " There was something very familiar in the way Gollum responded to her scolding. It made her study him closer, and what she saw made her heart bleed. Gollum was responding to her the way younglings all around the Shire would when she once again found where their latest game plowed through her garden. The shuffled feet, ducked head, and arms behind the back were all too familiar. What could possibly have turned a Hobbit into...into this? Beryl gritted her teeth, and firmed her hold on her staff as she squared her feet into a defensive stance. Whatever he had been, he was a demonstrated killer now, and if she weren't careful, she could easily be next on his menu.

"Gollum won't! He won't! My precious he won't lets it have his secretses."

"Is that a fact, then? I suppose I'll just have to convince you." A slow evil grin sprawled merrily across Beryl's face. Given the eerie glow from her quarterstaff, it gave even Gollum pause, as he crouched behind his rock

"and how is that nasty little light sticker going to makes us, my precious?"

"I'm going to sing to you, Gollum. Are you ready?"


	30. Ho Ho, My Lads! Yo ho, My Lads!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's lovely extra long guest chapter from the incomparable kkolmakov  
> Wren's Point of View as the Company falls through the Black Crack.  
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> Image found on Pinterest

**Written by kkolmakov**

The cave was dry, but Thorin prohibited them from starting fire, and Wren sat sadly on her bedroll, listening to her teeth chattering. There was no way she could fall asleep, with the disgusting feeling of a wet tunic stuck to her back, drops sadly rolling from the end of her braid. She sniffled and looked down on the cave floor, almost expecting a small pond to form under her. Her hair was so long and there was so much of it so no squeezing and rolling could get the water out of it.

"Cold, my heart?" The King's quiet voice came from above, and she jerked her face up. There was no point in denying it, and she nodded.

"I have had half a thought to snuggle with Beryl, but she seems in such low moods recently. She might want to be alone..." Wren sniffled again, and then a sneeze escaped her. She sighed, and suddenly the King sat on her bedroll again. Wren's jaw slacked, and her eyes darted towards other Dwarves. As welcome as his warm side near her was, that was certainly quite improper. No one seemed to notice, or more likely everyone was pretty good at pretending they didn't.

Another sneeze made her jump up on her roll, and she fished a handkerchief from out of her sleeve and wiped her nose.

"I am alright, I just dislike cold, especially when it's wet." Wren stuffed the handkerchief back, and then the King deftly picked up her hand. She decided she would point at the inappropriateness of his behaviour if he made one more bold step. So far, she cowardly accepted the bliss of her hands being rubbed between his scorching palms.

In a minute, Wren asked herself whether the King warming her somewhat blue from cold fingers with his breath was that one bold step she had been intending to become the last drop, and somehow she found it wasn't. The little kisses falling on the tips of her digits, perhaps, were. And yet…

"Thorin..." That was definitely a squeak, and the King looked at her not taking his lips off her fingers. Was she supposed to stop him? Probably. Was she going to? Um… no. "What did you say to Fili?" Wren asked, just to ask something. The whiskers of his moustache brushing at the pulps of her fingers were creating some strange buzzing at the base of her skull.

"That he was being an idiot." The King deadpanned, clearly distracted. Wren lightly wiggled her fingers and saw one corner of his lips curl up. They spend several moments playing this silly game, he'd try to kiss, she'd wiggle finger as if trying to avoid a buss. Let's be honest here, she was just enjoying the coarse whiskers in the beard and moustache.

"And?.." She encouraged the King to speak, and suddenly he caught the index finger between his lips. That was the limit, Wren understood. Either she took her fingers away from him now, or the tingling sensation flooding her body would take control over her mind and she'd jump at the King, toppling him on the ground, and…

Wren pulled her hands away, but grabbed his to show she didn't object to his caresses.

"What did you tell Fili? Beryl is truly upset, and it is so distressing to see her like that… As if we have a completely different Hobbit in our company..." Wren rubbed the inner side of Thorin's wrist with her thumb. The spot was surprisingly soft, although overall she had to concede, Dwarves were all rough and hairy. The King was looking at the movement of her thumb, as if mesmerized. The gesture was indeed a bit odd, but it felt so nice that Wren indulged.

"I told him..." The King sounded raspy, and cleared his throat. "I told him that Durin's folk do not treat women that way. I didn't expect him to be so childish." Thorin shook his head, and Wren patted the back of his hand soothingly. "Their pranking was foolish, but at least they harmed no one. And Beryl of all people..."

"Any woman would hate a fake proposal," Wren said and placed her head on his shoulder. "He perhaps forgot that her feelings can be hurt as well. She is a tough lass."

"She is," the King chuckled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Wren was starting to feel sleepy. The King's body was radiating heat, and she was lulled by the comfort and the new feeling of safety. She had never in her life felt as secure as being near him.

And then they were falling.

Falling hurt. Mostly because it consisted of tumbling and bumping, and Wren consisted of bones and angles. At some point her stomach met with Bofur's knee, and she gasped. She was quickly avenged by her elbow's encounter with Bofur's eye. At some point she felt a pair of strong hands grab her, she immediately recognised the King's grasp, and the amount of blows decreased. Apparently, 'Thorin padding' was a rather efficient kind.

Even with most of blows falling on the King, who had protectively wrapped himself around her, she hissed when they finally landed in a messy pile of limbs. Wren felt very sorry for Gloin's side, she did have very pointy knees, and then they all groaned and rose, swaying. Only to be herded and pushed and poked by none others but the ugliest Goblins she had ever seen in her life. Well, these were the first Goblins she had ever seen, but, Maiar help her, the muzzles would visit her in her nightmares from now on!

The Goblin King, and it was quite clear who was in charge here, was surely to win the contest for the ugliest muzzle. He was sitting on a pile of something that Wren, being quite fussy when it came to cleanness, refused to identify.

Thorin stepped ahead and in front of her, shielding her, but consequently not letting her see what was happening, and then she heard the voice of the Chief Goblin, so unpleasant that she felt like covering her ears.

"Who are these miserable persons?" It sounded nasal and scratchy, and very, very angry.

There was some movement to Wren's right, and then the healer heard Beryl Baggin's voice, full of righteous indignation.

"Well, we wouldn't be quite so miserable, if you were a better host! I mean, really! No announcement, no warning, just dumped down a chute and pulled willy nilly till I know neither up nor down. Disgraceful!" There was some more movement, and Wren could just imagine Beryl poking her finger towards the Goblin King. "Sackville-Bagginses know more about hospitality than this!"

Wren threw a terrified look at the Dwarven King, who was standing in front of her, his arm stretched back and around her, and she felt like nudging him to interfere. She then saw Fili stir to her left. His hand snaked under his coat, where one of the numerous knives was no doubt stashed, and then the Goblin King squawked, "What? You dare? What is this vermin before me?"

"I'm a Hobbit. Beryl Baggins of Bag End, but I'm most certainly not at your service. Hobbits have probably forgotten more about hospitality than you ever imagined possible. I mean really, was the pinching, pulling, and dragging necessary? Can you even speak without spittle flying?" Beryl's voice rang, and Wren felt the Dwarven King release her and make a step forward. Fili moved at the same time. But they were too late. The Goblin King roared, and now with her view field clear Wren could see him sway a clobber like cepter, and…

Beryl was gone.

Wren stood frozen. She could not believe. Did it actually happen?! Did she actually just lose her friend?! She was almost blind and deaf. She could see Fili rush to the edge of the platform, screaming, but Wren couldn't hear. Her heart was drumming in her throat, hands were shaking. She saw Goblins drag Fili away, he was fighting, and it took about a dozen of them to push him down to the ground. Other dwarves were also moving and shouting, but Wren couldn't find a single sound in her.

"Well, well, isn't it interesting? Dwarves, are we?" The Goblin King screeched over the Dwarves roaring and cursing him. "What are you doing in my caves?"

The answer that came from Fili was as eloquent as it was crude, and Wren shook off her stupour. She could finally blink and see how Kili and Balin were holding Fili back, while Thorin had to grab Dwalin's massive arm to prevent him from charging at the Great Goblin.

The disgusting Great Goblin tilted his head and his beady eyes roamed the company.

"Would you look at that? Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." There was something greedy in the tone of the monstrous Goblin, and Wren felt terrified.

Even more terrified she felt when Thorin took a step forward, shoulders squared, calm dignity in the movement.

"Oh! But I'm forgetting…" The great Goblin sneered in a disgusting snide, and Wren watched him, her heart beating faster and faster. "You don't have a mountain, and you're not a king. Which makes you... nobody, really."

Wren gasped and to her own surprise she felt her hand lay on the hilt of the Elven sword Beryl had pushed onto her in the Troll cave. The Great Goblin threw a look over the Dwarf in front of him, and then he snarled in an appalling imitation of a smile.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak, an old enemy of yours. Bolg, son of Azog… Sounds familiar?"

"That's enough!" Was that her talking? That surely sounded like her voice, but Wren didn't remember opening her mouth. Neither she remembered stepping ahead and pointing her sword at the abdominal round stomach of the wart covered monster.

"What is this? Another Hobbit? Too skinny for that matter. And so orange, like a rotten carrot!"

"I said, enough!" At this stage Wren had to admit that was indeed her enraged voice. Interestingly, it was not shaking and was quite loud. "Close your foul mouth, or I will forget my oath and will gut you like a chukar for Summer Solstice Feast!"

"Wren..." She heard the King's voice from behind her, and she felt his presence behind her, but she was too far gone to listen to his warning.

"Keep your orange weasel on a leash, Oakenshield!" The Goblin King barked a derisive screechy laugh. "Or this one will follow the first one down on the sharp rocks."

That did it.

Wren made a step ahead, momentarily surprised by the assurance of her own motions, and in a movement trained through many years of surgery she stabbed, cutting through the femoral artery of the monster. Exsanguination, four to five minutes, possible earlier death by neurological shock, the professional part of her mind supplied. The Great Goblin swayed, other Goblins gasped and screeched, and then their disgusting King dropped on his knees in front of her. It was happening so fast that Goblins and Dwarves alike stood staring at her.

Wren pressed her foot into the chest of the monster and looked into his quickly clouding eyes.

"That is for Beryl." She gave him a confident push, and his heavy body toppled over the side of the platform they were on.

The cave was still and silent, somehow everyone except Wren was staring at the spot where the Goblin King stood a second ago. Wren was breathing in raspy short exhales, her hands shaking. The phrase that brought everyone out of the stupefaction came from Fili.

"That was my kill!" He sounded enraged. Wren whirled on her heels and glared at him.

"I loved her too!" she barked back.

"Are you going to stand here and bicker, or maybe you should start running before the Goblins wake up?" The calm and somewhat sarcastic voice of Gandalf the Grey came from a passage to their right.

The Dwarves moved, grabbing their weapons, Goblins started jumping at them, only to be thrown back. Wren saw Thorin pull his sword out of the scabbard.

"It is the Goblin-cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!" the goblins hollered in many terrified voices.

The long blade in Gandalf's hands glowered with the same blue light as Thorin's and Wren's, and the Goblins started shouting even louder, "He wields the Foe-hammer, the beater, bright as daylight!"

Dwarven weapons started flying, Wren saw Fili swirling both his swords, Bombur grabbed his terrifying ladle, Kili's short wide sword was already slashing flesh with a loud squelch.

They ran, Thorin in front of her, Dwalin behind. The sword was idle in her hands, she had never in her life fought before, and the Goblin King's life was the first she had ever taken intentionally.

The passages and hanging bridges they were rushing through were intertwined and rocking, and soon she understood she had to take up arms too. The Dwarves clearly kept in mind her inexperience, and she was protected most of the time. More than once the King would swirl his Elven blade, chopping off two or three heads at the same time, Dwalin's enormous axe would clear a path for her, or Fili's swords would slice and push the Goblins off her way.

They would get separated, and then get together again, the order in their procession would get rearranged, and suddenly she would be the first running. Wren pulled herself together and did her best. The sword was just the right size for her, not too heavy, but with the perfect balance and just enough weight for a good thrust and cut.

And finally she saw a glimmer of daylight in front of them, and they sped up, Goblins howling louder behind them, sensing the prey was getting away. Keeping her eyes on the exit in front of her Wren didn't notice a rock under her feet and stumbled over it. But immediately she felt the King's arms around her, and he dashed ahead, as much as carrying her, and they were outside.

With the Goblins shrilling and squealing behind them, they ran away from the caves, maneuvering between the fir trees, and finally came to a stop. They were breathing heavily, and Wren heard Gandalf mumbling.

"Five, six, seven, eight. Bifur, Bofur, that's ten. Fili, Kili, that's twelve. And Bombur, that makes thirteen. The honourable healer is here…"

Wren saw some of the Dwarves lean on the tree trunks, some were catching breath folded in two, hands pressed to the knees. Wren met Bofur's eyes. If asked, she would say they were terrified yet full of admiration.

"That is quite a bloodthirst you showed there, honourable healer. Quite a ginger snap..."

As soon as he pronounced it, so reminiscent of the moniker Beryl had given her and thought Wren didn't know of, the realisation dawned on Wren. Beryl was gone. Others seemed to have come to the same understanding, and Wren saw faces grow wan and devastated.

Wren sobbed loudly and threw her arms around Thorin's neck. His hand lay on the back of her head, another one soothingly rubbing her between shoulder blades, and Wren let herself cry.

From the corner of her eye she saw Balin wipe a tear, Dwalin clenching his fists, and Fili stepping away from the company, turning to face away from them. Now that she was gone, it was quite clear whose heart was most attached to the Hobbit. Kili stepped to his brother and placed his hand on Fili's shoulder.

"Where is Beryl? What happened? Tell me!" Gandalf demanded an answer in a loud tense voice, and Wren cried louder, desperately clinging to the King.

"The Goblin King… He pushed her off the platform..." Balin answered in a hollow voice. Wren heard Fili drew a sharp breath in, in a pained inhale, and Kili moved closer to his brother. "We lost her..."

"We lost the Hobbit," Thorin spoke gravely, and Wren pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "It is our fault. We dragged her on the quest with us, and… failed to protect her. She had never let us down, and now we… failed." Wren wrapped her arms around his neck even tighter, and he hid his face in her hair.

"She was a brave Hobbit, and… the blood of Longbeard ran honourably in her veins. She will be missed." The King finished his short eulogy, and Wren felt a shudder run through him. Balin gravely added something in Khuzdul.

There was nothing else to say, and Wren cried, swallowing her tears, feeling the body of the King rigid and tense under her arms.


	31. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we return you to our regularly scheduled Hobbit.
> 
> Hey! If you started here, back up two! I uploaded three chapters, since, y'know, you've been waiting forever for an update.

 

* * *

"Stop! Make it stops my precious! It stabses our earses!" Gollum writhed on the ground, shrieking as if dying. Beryl stopped her six hundredth rendition of "Pease Porridge Hot" to regard the still squirming Gollum with her hands firmly placed on hips, staff safely tucked in the loop of one arm.

"You are a dramatic one, aren't you? Ready to show me the way out? I can always start singing again." Beryl reminded him. Gollum stared daggers at her from his place on the cavern floor.

"Yes! Yes! We'll show the nasty ear stabber the ways out!" He finally hissed as he pulled himself up. Beryl did not care for the sly sideways look he gave her, muttering to himself. Something occurred to him, making him turn and regard her with a wide grin. "Yes, we'll shows it the way out, but first, must get our present!"

"Oh no you don't! You're just looking to disappear into the dark and try to catch me unawares! I may have cracked my head falling down here, but I'm not so far gone as that, yet. I want you where I can see you! Afterall, I don't have to see you to melt your ears off singing, now do I?"

"Curses it! We just wants our birthday present! We needs it!" Gollum angrily thrashed on the ground.

'Alright, alright, fine. I'll just follow behind you, then, while you go get it." Gollum was somewhat peeved by her insistence, but soon enough started off, cackling to himself and casting sly eyed glances back at Beryl, who kept her staff up between them.

"You'll has to wait here. My present is on my island, yes. I can'ts takes you on my boat. There's only room for one." Gollum cackled to himself again. Slipping off into the water quiet as the frog-snake cross he so reminded Beryl. She sat there, waiting, and waited still longer. She finally got bored enough she started fiddling with her pocket, where she rediscovered the item she'd picked up earlier. Drawing it out in the light of her staff, she saw it was a plain gold band. She looked it over, then put it back in her pocket. Perhaps it was the lost wedding ring of one of Hissycroaker's unfortunate victims. He didn't look too picky. He'd probably eaten more than his fair share of poor lost merchants on top of his regular diet of grunters and squeakers.

Beryl[ continued](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://www.fanfiction.net/docs/edit.php?docid=44252591#76371821) to fidget, and jumped three feet when Gollum shrieked in anger and dismay. She didn't feel the ring slip onto her finger as she startled. She was too busy preparing to fight for her life.

"Gone! Gone! Where is it, precious! My Precious! Where?" Here the voice dropped to murderous growls. "Took it! Yes, nasty little light sticker! She has it, doesn't she, My Precious! We'll squeeze it out of her!" Beryl resigned herself to having to knock the horrid little creature in the head, then try to make her way out of these tunnels on her own. Unless she found some great reserve of luck, or a squeaker to follow out, she knew she was probably doomed.

Imagine her surprise when Gollum's head weaved about, as if not seeing her at all. "Gone? How is she gone? Of course she's gone! Gone with my precious, but where? Back door, yes, she'd go to the back door. Doesn't know the way out, but knows the way in? Bah!" Still mumbling imprecations and copious howls to 'My Precious" Beryl followed Gollum as quickly and quietly as she could, wondering why Gollum couldn't see her. Glancing down to shift her grip on her staff, she noticed the ring on her finger, and the rather ghostly appearance her body had taken. She'd found a magic ring here in the depths, of all things! Now it all made sense. Gollum had meant to collect the ring and attack her while she couldn't see him, How lucky was it she'd found his ring, and now, he was unknowingly guiding her out! Perhaps she'd found that reserve of luck after all?

The trail twisted and turned, sometimes so narrow she had to suck in her gut to pass by. Yet Gollum slithered through hardly[ slowing](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://www.fanfiction.net/docs/edit.php?docid=44252591#73322263) his pace, muttering under his breath the whole way. Beryl was hard put to keep him in sight. Why she could see him reflected in the glow of her staff while he remained oblivious escaped her understanding. She dismissed it as part of the ring's magic and kept pace as best as she could. Gollum was one fast little hissycroaker.

She finally caught sight of a lighted corridor ahead that wasn't the pale blue of her staff's glow. they were coming to an inhabited corridor. She watched Gollum approach as carefully as he could, but could not bring himself to venture into the torch's circle of light. He whimpered, he muttered, and cursed, all in his Precious' name, yet he could not stir beyond the safety of his darkened crack.

Beryl was left with a conundrum. There was a quite solid hissycroaker between her and the lighted corridor. Gollum had called it 'The Back Door' more than once, so she could only assume it led Outside. She hoped once she got into it she could tell which way Outside was from there, however, before she could worry about which way to run, she had to get past Gollum.

The dark crack they had traversed wasn't big enough to slide past him, so her choices were either to go over him, or through him. Beryl hefted her staff, considering. Even with her best effort, she doubted she could clear Gollum's height, even as bent over as he was. That left through. Could she, though? Could she bring herself to hit another, without her life being in immediate danger.

That was the problem of it, because in all actuality it was, even though there was nothing breathing down her neck this moment. She was stuck in a crack with a murdering thing that used to be a Hobbit, and she was stuck here until she could bring herself to get past him somehow. Beryl shook all the doubts out, squared her feet, raised her staff, and knocked Gollum cold.

She checked and found the little monster was still breathing. She drug him back further into the crack, where any squeakers or grunters would be less likely to find him. The best she could tell, he'd wake with one massive headache, but he'd be alive and most likely still undiscovered. It was all she could offer him. Beryl snuck past him into the corridor, and saw a massive iron door slowly closing on a beautiful mountain evening. She raced towards it, skirting through by a button's breath, several of which she left on the Goblin side of the door. She half ran, half slid, down the steep sides into a copse of fir trees, where the welcome sight of Dwarves, Wren, and Gandalf greeted her.

She listened for a moment to Thorin's speech, slowly realizing all the nice words were about her! Remembering her ring, she quickly slipped it off her finger and into her pocket, and quietly snuck up on the group, waiting for an opportune time to remake Her Boys' acquaintance. Thorin stopped, and Beryl breezed in as if she'd always been there.

"Aw Thorin, I didn't know you cared so." She might have miscalculated slightly, because Beryl found herself the center of a huge hug pile. Wonder of wonders, Thorin, grumpy, crotchety, and contrary Thorin hugged her as hard as Fili or Balin. Beryl might have found she survived the travails of the mountain just to be squashed by her Dwarves, wizard, and Wren.

"Beryl Baggins. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life." Now Beryl was concerned. Not only was the crotchety and cranky Thorin happy to see her, but the wizard was getting downright emotional. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Step back! Let her breathe a bit! You're crushing her." Wren bullied the surprised and happy Dwarves out of her way. "Besides, I want a hug, too!" And there went the rest of Beryl's lungs.

"Hobbit can't breathe!" Beryl managed to wheeze, and Wren reluctantly loosened her grip. Fili took the opportunity to gather Beryl up in his arms for another hug. She let him for half a minute, before she thumped him on the arm and gave him her best glare.. "You! I'm still mad at you," Just as his face fell, she hugged him tight. "But I'm glad to see you, too." For the second time in as many minutes, Beryl's lungs were squished to pieces, though she couldn't say she minded too much.


	32. And into the Firecones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from hot to hotter for the valiant Company, whatever is a wizard to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Wrenny goodness is due the wonderful kkolmakov, who has released a new novel! Hammer Up! It's available through amazon or her webpage.
> 
> I have been without a real computer for some time, and I have a serious backlog of chapters to upload. So enjoy the massive influx of broomy goodness!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> found here: https://www.taringa.net/posts/arte/18421453/Mega-Post-Las-ilustraciones-de-Donato-Giancola.html  
> attributed to Donato Giancolo

 

The endless rounds of hugging might have lasted into the rest of the evening, but a long deep howl, deeper than any normal wolf's bay, was quickly joined by others, some uncomfortably close to where they were.

A look of sheer aggravated disbelief crowded out the smile Thorin had been sporting. "Out of the frying pan…" He growled.

"And into the fire…" answered Gandalf, all the worry in the world in his voice. "Run!" Down they all scrambled, clambering over rocks and jumping fallen logs like a herd of antelope with the warg pack closing on their heels.

"Quickly! Up the trees!" Wizard put words to actions as he quickly scaled a large fir in a copse that bordered the fallen scree from the mountain on one side and the dark forested valleys on the other. The Dwarves swarmed up the trees quick as locusts. Beryl was impressed, but left grounded. No branches swung low enough for her to get a purchase, so there she was, left hopping like a mad thing, trying to reach safety herself.

"Beryl! Here!" Fili called from the larch he and his brother had claimed. He was hanging by his knees from the lowest branch, and held his hand out, reaching for her. Still it was too far for Beryl to reach. Luckily, her staff made all the difference. Between them Fili and Kili hauled the panting Hobbit to safety just as the first warg snapped at her kicking heels.

In fact, an embarrassed yelp from below caused Beryl's face to light up with a rather satisfied smirk. "Teach you rotten wargs to snap at me! Hah!"

And oh! Didn't that bit of snark set off the wargs below them. For the third time in two days, language unfit for mortal ears assaulted Beryl as the wargs snarled and snapped their discontent at her, promising all sorts of dire retribution should she fall into their slavering jaws.

Into this delightful milling of wargs beneath their trees, the first lit fircone plummeted. The enchanted flames set them howling something fierce.. Some had the presence of mind to roll the flames out. Others, too far gone in the agony of a blazing fur coat, ran pell mell through their compatriots, setting all and sundry ablaze. It didn't take long for the unlit wargs to chase away their burning comrades, sending them off to set the dry underbrush ablaze in their misery.

Yet the numbers of wargs below them were slowly thinned by Gandalf's efforts, and it didn't take long for Beryl and the rest to join in pelting the wargs below. In fact, Kili and Beryl started a bit of a contest to see which of them could light the most Wargs up. Beryl crowed with glee when she managed to catch the Alpha afire. It set him raging so amongst his brethren that three wargs fell to his fury before he put his coat out rolling in the hard scrabble below them.

"He still only counts as one!" Snapped Kili.

"But he killed three!" Beryl huffed back.

"You only hit the one, though." Was his unflappably logical reply.

"Fili, hand me another before I pelt your brother." Beryl's tone was as dry as the fircones Gandalf was lighting. It tickled her they burned in colors as bright as the fireworks from Old Took's Midsummer parties.

Yet as valiant as they tried, their brief reprieve could not last. Wargs were not only bigger than normal wolves, they're also more clever. Runners had already set off back towards the mountains to get the Goblins, and the Goblins had sent for someone else. It did not take long before Bolg's hunting pack and the Goblins from the mountains showed up beneath their trees. The Goblins set to putting out fires and Wargs, except for those closest to the trees occupied by The Company, and laughed at their precarious predicament. Some even began to sing, and Beryl considered stabbing her own eardrums just to get relief.

_Sixteen Birds, in Five Fir Trees_

_Their feathers were fanned, in a fiery Breeze_

_But funny little birds, they had no wings_

_Oh what shall we do, with the funny little things?_

"Silence!" Even the most hard headed Goblin snapped his mouth shut at the fierce command of the Gundabad Orc pacing towards the Company's trees on a warg black as pitch. "I wish to savor this moment. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, cowering in the branches." Bolg drew in a deep breath, and held it, exhaling slowly as if savoring a fragrant perfume. "You can smell the fear on the air. It reminds me of your Father, mewling and mindless. Did you know the Necromancer gave me the honor of finishing him? Now, it seems, I'll end his pitiful son as well." He laughed, and a crueler laugh never did Beryl hear before. Beryl turned to study Thorin, worried at how he might take the horrid words.

Thorin and Wren seemed to be arguing something, both gesturing wildly, and Thorin pointing to something down behind their tree. Wren did not seem impressed, and argued even harder, poking Thorin in the chest. It ended with Thorin, for once, grabbing Wren and kissing her hard. She smacked him on the arm, and Thorin pulled her too him, resting their foreheads together as he cradled the back of her neck in his massive hand. One last long look in her eyes, and he turned to sign something at Fili and Kili in their Dwarfish sign language. They both nodded grimly. Thorin lept down from the safety of his perch. Beryl could hear Wren screaming "Noooooooooo!"

"You want me, Bolg? Here I am. Come and face me, if you've not turned coward. Do you not remember what happened to the last of your line I met in battle?"

"There's no Dain here to save you from your foolishness this time, Dwarf!" Bolg charged Thorin on his warg, the Dwarf only barely ducking in time. He managed a glancing blow on the muzzle of Bolg's warg, causing it to yip and buck, nearly unseating his rider.

Beryl had to admit begrudgingly that Bolg was a master rider. Not only did he keep his seat, but had the thing skip hop in the tightest turn and come charging back at Thorin. If Thorin hadn't managed that blow, he'd have no time to recover. As it was, he'd set for Bolg's charge, and this time, Thorin swiped his blade cleanly across the airborne warg's throat, rolling deftly to the side as it landed roughly, never to rise again. Bolg roared, and leapt after Thorin, raining blow after heavy blow on Thorin's shield. Thorin parried, ducked, whirled, and managed to just barely keep abreast of the heavy blows. It was clear that Thorin's stamina was flagging. After enduring the freezing rains and fighting his way clear of the Goblin caves, he was nearing the end of his reserves.

Beryl had been so wrapped up in watching the fight, she hadn't noticed the stealthy movement of the Dwarves from tree to tree. Imagine her surprise when she heard Fili right behind her bellowing a warning. "Behind you, Thorin!" Seamlessly, Thorin turned the parry into a full sweep, catching the warg leaping for his back. Unfortunately, he had no time to dodge, and the heavy warg's body pinned him to the ground.

"Bring me his head."

"Noooooo!" Beryl imagined few cries could pierce her heart quite like Wren's did. Wren fairly flew down out of the trees, drawing her elvish dagger and taking up a defensive stance in front of the pinned Dwarf. Beryl was proud of her, the blade only danced a little in her hands, though she knew the healer was terrified.

"Blast it woman! Get out of here!" Thorin huffed and shoved at the warg pinning him. Before he'd appeared worried, now a look of sheer dawning horror coated his features.

"I will not leave you!" Wren's chin went up and her nose twitched as fast as a rabbit's, but she would not move. Bolg's Orcs laughed at her, one cockily tried to swipe her elvish blade out of her hands, only to lose fingers to the sharp edge. Beryl was torn. She wanted to put herself bodily between her friends and danger, but she could do more for them providing cover in the form of Gandalf's firecones.

Fili and Kili, though, had no such problems. With a "Baruk Khazad! Khazad[ ai](https://www.deviantart.com/users/outgoing?https://www.fanfiction.net/docs/edit.php?docid=44265448#14563752) menu!" Dwarves flung themselves out of the trees and into what was becoming a brawl of epic proportions. Soon the Dwarves had formed a protective circle around the pinned Thorin, and the Goblins, wargs, and Bolg's Orcs formed a ring three deep surrounding them.

"Kill them." Bolg commanded, and all the Orcs, Goblins, and wargs moved in on them. Fili handily fended off three of them to one side of Wren, both blades whirling in a concerted effort to mince as many foes as possible. What Bombur didn't send flying with his massive war axe, he bounced off his immense girth and usually flattened three more with the victim's landing. All around Wren the Dwarves fought, and Beryl and Gandalf kept flaming fir cones coming, keeping them from getting overwhelmed. Despite the Company's best efforts, one broke through and came after Wren.

He carelessly knocked her elven blade aside, causing her to stumble back into the warg pinning Thorin. She curled herself protectively around the trapped king. The Orc raised his blade over the prone figures of Wren and Thorin. It never fell as the night air was rent with a golden explosion. Sparks flew up on the night breeze, dancing with the colorful embers of Gandalf's firecones. Ribbons of that golden energy snaked their way up the Orc, and met where his head used to be. Everyone stared, and Beryl wondered just how Gandalf pulled that miracle off. Glancing up, she nearly fell out of her tree as the wizard was wearing the same perplexed expression as everyone else. If he didn't, then who did?

From overhead, the piercing cry of an eagle split the night. Gandalf called something back in what Beryl assumed was wizard speak. He jumped clear of his tree to the swooping bird, the massively huge swooping bird, and soon the rest of the flight fell upon the still stunned Orcs, Goblins, and wargs. Some used their great wings to fan the flames into the howling masses, some dropped trees on them, others grabbed up wargs, goblins, or orcs to drop them from great heights. The rest of the enemies scattered, leaving the confused and exhausted Company as they disappeared back into the mountains or the shadows of the forests. Only then did the eagles start collecting The Company.


	33. Up, Up, and Away!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company spends an interesting night in the Eyrie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second of the massive chapters update, thanks to the new comp.
> 
> Image provided by a talented artist on deviantart, EmilyAeren.  
> Give her a visit! https://emilyaeren.deviantart.com/
> 
> As always, Wren is thanks to kkolmakov and her wonderful writing.
> 
>  

 

When an eagle came for Thorin, Wren had to help the eagle roll the carcass off him. All sorts of interesting language flew from the king's lips as they extracted him. Beryl could tell there was some attempt to moderate it, but from the occasional grimace on Wren's face, it wasn't always successful. The way she was clutching his shield, (and why it wasn't on his arm) told her they now had an injured Dwarf on their hands. They were arguing again, only something seemed to prod Thorin's humor as much as his temper. There was an indulgent smile amongst the grimaces of pain as he was jostled into place. Beryl would have to find out later what it was about, because just then, she found herself swept up in massive talons only to be tossed willy nilly onto the back of an eagle.  
  
"Oh for the love of all that's good, please don't drop me!" Beryl squeaked and clutched convulsively at the long satin smooth feathers she now found herself upon.  
  
"Ho! There is someone there, after all. You're a light one aren't you?" A short shriek later, the eagle amended "With a fierce grip. Leave a few feathers, would you?"  
  
"Sorry. I've never flown before." Beryl had just gotten the apology out, when a rather shrieky Wren was deposited next to her. She quickly wrapped an arm around Wren before she could slide off the feathered back.  
  
"Put me back! I need to be with the King! That one, with the broken arm!" Wren was craning her neck to watch Thorin and his eagle.  
  
"Not with you holding onto his shield for dear life. He can barely hold himself steady. How would he hold you, too?" Beryl tried to reason with her, but she thought maybe Wren was a bit too wrung out for reason just this moment. She had a lot of questions for her friend, but felt now might not be the best time for them. They were miles above the earth on an eagle's back that had, until just a while ago, been little more than grand stories to tell by the hearth.  
  
Beryl's eyes were glued open, watching it all pass beneath her as they flew. She took in the summer stars above, the passing dark shapes of trees below, and off in the distance, a mighty cliff city of Eagle Eyries. They were not the broken branch things of a regular eagle. Great eagles were as much like normal eagles as humans were like long tailed monkeys. These were sculpted things of beauty, and Beryl took it all in with wonder, and soon, the sight of Gandalf talking with the Chief Eagle himself came into view as she and Wren were safely deposited next to them. The Chief Eagle was laughing.  
  
"No, I have not forgotten the wizard who saved me from a well aimed arrow. This was a kindness long overdue."  
  
"And I find myself in a situation where I must ask to impose upon our friendship further." Beryl did not stick around to listen to the rest of the negotiations. It appeared the next leg of their journey may be by eagle wings. A loud reminder from the Chief Eagle that they'd go no where near human settlements and their long yew bows informed her it may not be as far as she'd have liked. She found Wren with a seated Thorin, checking him over from head to toe. He was trying to fuss at her about something, but she was having none of it.  
  
"I thought I told you to go down the back of the tree into that hidden ravine." Thorin found himself grumbling into the top of Wren's head. She was intently checking his ribs and abdomen for hidden injuries.  
  
"So you did, but I do believe I made it clear I was not leaving you. Raise your arm, does this hurt?" Thorin winced as she checked his ribs under the uninjured arm. They were apparently tender. "Besides, it was a terrible plan. What would have kept the wargs from following our scent after? We would be right back in the trees or worse, and you would not be there to protect me or anyone." She gave Thorin a sly glance. "I also think your Company was very thankful for an excuse to not follow through."  
  
"What?" He regretted the sudden move to stand almost immediately, cradling the sore arm close to his body with the other.  
  
"Do you not understand how important you are to this quest? You, Thorin, are the reason they are here in the first place. Do you think it has any chance of success if you abandon it?"  
  
"I did not abandon the Quest! I was providing the necessary distraction for your escape to continue the Quest!" His indignant roar was cut short by yet another sore spot her clever fingers found, and ended in a growling wince. Wren tsked at him over his shoulder, checking his back.  
  
"Noble sentiment. Questionable reasoning. Would you leave Fili behind if it had been his grand idea to play distraction? Or Bifur? What if it had been myself or Beryl that had hopped down there as a sacrifice? What then?" Now that Wren had assured herself the arm was the worst of it, she gave it her full attention, causing more than a few sounds of discomfort and pain from her charge. "Bless the sturdiness of Dwarven bones. It is not a full break, but it will need time to heal. I must speak to Gandalf."  
  
Wren stalked off to talk to Gandalf and the Chief Eagle the moment she had his arm bound enough to suit her, leaving him staring after her with a mix of aggravation and pride. He chuckled to himself, then carefully moved over to where Bofur, with the help of some of the eagles, had started making a camp for the Company.  
  
"So, will you tell us how you survived such a fall?" Fili had sidled up to Beryl. She startled a little, as she had been lost in her own thoughts.  
  
"Not just now, I'd just be repeating the tale once we're all together. It boils down to sheer dumb luck, though. That entire mountain is nothing but tunnels and chutes." Beryl shuddered from top to furry toe at the memory, causing Fili to chuckle.  
  
"I want to be front and center when you decide to share the tale." He tilted his head, a sad, crooked smile in place. "Am I forgiven yet?"  
  
It took some doing on her part, but Beryl managed to keep her expression steady. She pretended to study Fili through narrowed eyes. "Are you going to do something that daft again?" Unfortunately, Fili was a quick study. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. Those beaded mustache braids twitched with a half hidden smile. The eyebrow was her undoing, though, and she finally smiled.  
  
"I will probably do something at least that thoughtless at some point in time, but never with the intent to hurt you. Peace between us?" Fili pulled her back against him, resting his head on her soft brown curls.  
  
"I suppose. You look pitiful when I say no." She wouldn't admit, even on pain of death, how she had missed that solid wall of warmth at her back. Beryl saw Wren rejoining them. "What's the news from on High?"  
  
"We'll be overnighting as guests of the Eagles. In the morning, we will be dropped a short walk from where we'll be convalescing until Thorin is well enough to travel." Not only was Wren's nose twitching, but she was chewing her bottom lip. "I am worried about this resting place Gandalf has chosen. He does not seem as sure of our welcome as he would have us believe. What sort of person must this friend be, if the wizard is unsure of our welcome?"  
  
"Could it be a case of 'best of a bad situation'? I know the Eagles won't just fly anywhere. I heard the Chief Eagle got a little too close to an archer once. He won't risk his people by flying near a settlement." Beryl offered from her Fili blanket. He had not let go, and seemed disinclined to release her anytime soon, not that Beryl was trying very hard. Wren's mouth twitched, and Beryl's cheeks colored to see it.  
  
"Alright lads 'n lasses, come and get it before Bombur eats it all." Bofur's voice rang loud and clear. Beryl was heartily glad of the distraction.  
  
Off to the side, a merry fire blazed, and on the stones, several potatoes baked, and rabbits spitted on savory roasting sticks were leaned against each other over the cheerful flames. The fragrant wood would leave a mouthwatering flavor in the meat. Without looking, Bofur thumped the back of Bombur's hand. "You've had yours, now off wi' ye." Beryl saved a spitted coney and potato for Wren, knowing she'd see first to Thorin.

 


	34. Grin and Bear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet this "friend". Jury's still out on their welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image found on Pinterest. Any help crediting the artist would be welcome. One reader has identified this picture as a Hildebrandt.
> 
> Wren is all Kkolmakov's genius, as always.
> 
>  

The next morning found them deposited in an area Beryl didn't know whether to call an organized meadow or a haphazard field. Flowers she thought she recognized grew to sizes she didn't think possible, and they were grouped by color and species into irregular patches. Honeybees nearly the size of her head buzzed contentedly about the flowerheads nodding in a light breeze.  
  
A merry stream burbled along side one edge of the rioting colors. The water was so clear that she could count the speckles on the backs of the fish flitting across the pebbled bottom. Beryl wanted a bath, but saw no way to get a moment of privacy to do so. Wren apparently had the same thought.  
  
A short conference between Wren, Gandalf, and Thorin had their Boys contentedly bathing and splashing some distance away, while the girls found themselves soaking in what amounted to a shady sheltered pool. Some sort of flowering cane dropped fragrant petals in the water around them, and the pebbles gave way to a soft fine grained sand on the bottom.  
  
Beryl and Wren used it to scrub out the grimy scent of the goblin caves. While they waited for their clothes to dry, they used the oils from the drooping petals to soothe their skin from the summer sun and the sand scouring. Wren recognized them from a smaller variety in the healing gardens that was good for soothing the skin. Beryl was only too happy to comply.  
  
"Oh thank you. Nothing like a healer's hands to rub the muscles out." Beryl all but melted in the grass beside the stream. She'd done her best by her friend, but something told her she got the better end of this particular deal.  
  
"So, what else did you find down there besides the hissycroaker?" Wren grinned as she felt the Hobbit flinch under her hands. While everyone was around the campfire last night, Beryl's miraculous return was discussed, and in return, Beryl got a full accounting of how Wren and their Boys escaped.  
  
"How did you? Nevermind, I ought to expect that sort of insight from you by now. I found a strange magic ring. I want to talk to Gandalf about it, but can't seem to catch him when he's not distracted by something else. It scares me a bit, even though I'm sure it saved my life from that creepy, scabrous thing." The Hobbit shuddered under Wren strongly enough to make her orange curls bounce.  
  
"Why does it scare you, Beryl?" Like a strong poultice, Wren's soft voice pulled the poisonous worries out of Beryl in one long ramble.  
  
"What if it made Hissycroaker that way? Will it do that to me, too? Sometimes it feels like it pulls at my thoughts, and I'm not sure if it's really doing that, or if it's just my own fears playing tricks. That's why I want Gandalf's full attention, and not the whole committee treatment." Beryl flopped over onto her back, hands behind her head as she stared grumpily up at the few feathery clouds gracing the brilliant blue sky. "If it's safe, then it's a useful tool that can make getting the arkenstone possible. If it isn't safe well, just how dangerous is it? Is it enough to warrant disposing the one thing that could make this mad venture work?" Beryl turned pleading eyes to Wren. "Don't you see? I'm scared of it, and at the same time, it's the first bit of hope I've found to getting all of us through this quest alive and well." Beryl twisted up fistfulls of grass in her distress, releasing a faintly lemon fragrance into the air. The scent seemed to help calm her, as did Wren's soothing hands rubbing her arm.  
  
"I think I can help you get time to talk to the wizard, but I want you to promise me something." Wren's nose was twitching again, and that got Beryl's full attention.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Will you do the same for me?" Wren asked. Beryl felt it was time she shared what she'd seen, and what she'd been thinking ever since.  
  
"He doesn't know anything about it." Beryl's words dropped like smooth stones in a still pool. Wren's catlike eyes widened as her head came up.  
  
"What? He must!"  
  
"He was as perplexed by it as anyone. I saw his face when it happened."  
  
"But there's no one else to ask about it." Wren flopped back on the soft grass, thinking hard.  
  
"It seemed to come from you." As Wren nodded at her comment, Beryl became insistent. "Did you always know you had magic?" Wren shook her head no. Beryl's eyes grew wide and she snickered. "Oh gracious, remember what I said? You really are magic."  
  
"I am glad my unexpected uncontrollable magic that is currently making me want to itch and squirm has confirmed your words, Beryl. I will endeavour to entertain you further more." Wren's dry wit helped calm Beryl's merriment. It was her turn to rub Wren's arm gently.  
  
"He's had time to think, maybe something's occurred to him since then. You know I'll be happy to distract the Boys so you can talk to him about it. " Beryl gave Wren a comforting hug.  
  
"I am grateful for it, because it allowed me to save Thorin's life. I can feel it buzzing along like bees in my veins. It is distracting. I need to learn about it, how to harness it, and my only hope to do that is through Gandalf." Wren patted Beryl's back, letting her know she was alright.  
  
Once everyone was clean, dried, and clothed again, Gandalf called all the Company together. "We are currently in the lands of a singular gentleman named Beorn. He is a rather reclusive fellow, and a skinchanger."  
  
"He's under some kind of enchantment, then?" asked Dori.  
  
"The only enchantment he may be under is his own, and I suggest you keep such thoughts to yourself for your own sake." Gandalf's clear warning now had all their attention. "I won't pretend to you that he is some sort of gentle person, nor will I tell you a fairy tale about his even temper, but if we are lucky and smart, he may just help us."  
  
Gandalf gave them a very general outline of his plan. He would go to meet Beorn with both the healer and the Hobbit 'since together they were almost enough to make one' and he arranged the Dwarves as he muttered to himself. He finally nodded and told them to follow in pairs every five minutes after he gave a signal. He then set off determinedly across the bee pastures, as he called them, with Wren and Beryl following closely.  
  
They hadn't gotten far before a pair of lovely white and brown horses careened into view, jolted to a stop, and then bolted back the way they had come.  
  
"He'll be this way, then. Come along." Gandalf set off directly after the horses. Beryl and Wren shared a look as they followed in the wizard's wake.  
  
It didn't take long. There beside a huge, rough timbered house, built more like a lodge or mead hall, stood a tall, broad shouldered man with shaggy brown hair past his shoulders, and a massive, curling brown beard. He was splitting logs for the hearth, every move smoothly graceful. He struck Beryl as something akin to an oversized Dwarf.  
  
"And there they are. Alright, I've seen them. You can be off now." Beorn spoke something else to the horses. It consisted of whickers, neighs, and whinnies, but in a pattern much like regular speech. The pair trotted off contentedly. Beorn laughed deep in his belly, watching his horses go like a proud father. He then turned a merry pair of shrewd brown eyes on Gandalf and the two women. "Well then, who are you, and what do you want?"  
  
"I am Gandalf the Grey, and these two are my companions, Beryl Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire, and Wren of Enedwaith, a Healer from Bree. We have had no small troubles in our travels, and now find ourselves stranded without food, shelter, or our equipment."  
  
"Gandalf ? Never heard of you. Never heard of a Hobbit, either." Beorn stalked over to them, towering over even Gandalf, and bent to study Beryl. She'd curtsied as politely as her trousers and buttonless vest would let her when introduced, but returned his skeptical look glare for glare when he studied her like a new bug, causing Beorn to go into that deep rumbling belly laugh again. "I had thought at first you might be a little brown bunny, but that glare more suits a badger."  
  
"It has been a long strange road for our Beryl from the Shire." Gandalf stroked his beard, noting Beorn's curiosity in the Hobbit. Beryl spared a visual dagger just for the wizard. Apparently, he was willing to use Beorn's curiosity to gain the help they so desperately needed. The things she was made to endure.  
  
"It started with our company dropping in on her unexpectedly." Gandalf shared.  
  
"Now how is a little slip of a girl like her, and an old man like you a hardship, much less a company?" Beorn crossed his treetrunk arms across the wall he called a chest.  
  
"Oh, did I not share already? We did not all wish to impose upon your generosity. May I call the others?" Gandalf's manner was smooth as silk.  
  
"Fine, if it will move the story along." Beorn gave a careless wave, and Gandalf whistled for the Company to begin their slow planned march. Beorn waited impatiently as Balin and Dwalin joined them. Both bowed low and offered their service.  
  
"Fine, fine. Though I believe it is you who need my service, rather. Now Gandalf, this story you started, with the poor Hobbit beset by four guests overwhelming her?" Beryl did not care in the slightest for the sarcasm loaded in Beorn's voice. She wondered if it would really bad manners to kick him in the ankles. Though, reconsidering the ankles in question, she'd more likely break her own foot.  
  
'Oh, she was hardly overwhelmed. Not caring for their careless treatment of her things, she quickly put them in the road with her broom." Gandalf chuckled, remembering the sight.  
  
"She took her broom to a healer?" Shaggy brown brows rose in alarm.  
  
"Not in the slightest." Gandalf scoffed. " In fact, the healer didn't join the Company, and that was at the Hobbit's insistence, until Bree."  
  
'So we're again to three guests causing Beryl to take a broom to them?" It was easy to see Beorn was starting to lose his patience with the tale and Gandalf.  
  
"Well, there was also Fili, and Kili here." Blonde and brown head bowed in tandem at Gandalf's introduction.  
  
"That one tried to wipe his feet on my mother's sewing chest. Of course I took a broom to him!" Beryl felt she was not getting a fair shake in this telling, and had to speak up, causing that laugh to rumble again at her expense.  
  
"And she held the entire host at her door." Gandalf began, his look said he as much as expected Beorn's next interruption.  
  
"Host? This seems a host to you?" Beorn waved his hand dismissively over the four Dwarven heads present.  
  
"Well, there was also Dori and Nori"  
  
"Fine, fine, no, and I don't need your service." And once again Beorn called for Gandalf to continue the story. In this manner, Gandalf went through the entire tale, slowly adding the Company as he went, telling all the embarrassing details of the marriage proposals, getting knocked down a mountain, and escaping the foul hissycroaker, to popping back up on the other side of the mountain. Beorn laughed the whole way through. Though, once he learned it was Wren that killed the Great Goblin, Beryl finally relaxed as his weighty gaze turned to reassess the mild healer from Bree. She literally felt lighter than she had before. It was an almost giddy feeling. Bertyl finally relaxed and enjoyed Beorn's fine mead.  
  
"I say, Gandalf, it seems you excel at finding curious traveling companions." Beorn was smiling through the great curling beard he was stroking thoughtfully. "If more beggars came to my door with stories to tell, they might find me a more tolerant host. You may rest easy tonight, and my animals will see to your care tomorrow. I've business that will take me away for a bit. We'll see what we shall see on my return."  
  
"You have my thanks for your generosity." Beorn waved off Gandalf's pretty words and bow, and guided them into his hall.

 


	35. While the Bear's Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're going on a bear hunt...  
> And they're not scared!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter in the massive update. Might want to back up to "Into the Firecones" If you came here first. ;)  
> Don't worry, it's a quick read.
> 
> Image found on Pinterest

 

Beorn’s Hall was a wonder. It reminded her of Mead Halls from the stories Old Took would tell from the Grey Mountains. It had a high, arching roof supported by thick round beams with a smokehole over the round pitted hearth in the middle, warming the whole place. A long, low table ran the length of one end, and it was carved with runic designs and fanciful animals over its whole surface. Beryl took her time marveling at it, until Beorn’s booming laugh made her self conscious. Animals of all shapes and sizes looked after their care, and Beryl surmised more than a few were probably smarter than some Hobbits she could name.   
  
Broadbacked sheep lead by a black ram brought in tableware, platters, and a snowy white tablecloth Wren and Beryl were happy to help spread out. Not even the finest of Aunt Bergamot’s stitchings could compare with the embroidery she fingered on the edges. They were easy to match to the carvings she found on the table.  
  
Dinner was a touch and go affair. No one could claim Beorn did not set a fine table, but as Gandalf had warned, there was no meat to be had anywhere. More than once a Dwarf grown careless on a full belly started to say something, but luckily either Gandalf, Wren, Beryl, or a more alert dwarf would send a little foot to foot communication to shut him up. Beorn seemed oblivious, continuing with his rousing tales of adventure and history. Some of them she recognized as variations on Old Took’s tales and others were looks into the hidden lives of the animals around them.   
  
Eventually, even the stoutest appetite stalled on the honey braised mushroom caps, soft nutty breads, and creamy cheeses. The Dwarves moved into a circle around the banked hearth, telling their tales and singing their songs. Beryl made straight for the raised beds on the side of the hall. They were little more than fresh hay covered with crisp linen sheets and warm woolen blankets, but after the hardships of the road and Misty Mountains, they were as welcome as eiderdown featherbeds. Dwarven song lulled her to sleep, and she dreamed of bears dancing in the moonlight, singing their own songs.  
  
“Hoy, sleepyhead, are you going to sleep the day away?” The cheerful voice was highly unwelcome, and Beryl had half a thought anyone that merry in the morning without a proper offering of warm coffee ought to be drawn and quartered in the village square.  
  
“Where’s breakfast” she managed through a jaw cracking yawn. It was amazing her tormentor could understand her, but somehow, he managed.  
  
“Mostly inside us, but I did manage to save you a bit.” Beryl finally cracked sleep filled eyes to take in the chipper grin and dimples winking at her. It was much too early to deal with that much sunshine. She tried to roll back over under her blankets, but found them pulled out from around her a quick as a magician’s trick. She landed on her backside with a thump. Before she could unleash the wrath of the woken, a steaming cup of coffee was shoved under her nose. She decided to let him live for now.  
  
Breakfast consisted of honeycomb, clotted cream, warmed nutbread, and a tangy cheese the likes of which Beryl’s tastebuds could not get enough. It had been a long time since her tummy had been this happy, and she was afraid she might have overdone it slightly. Sliding herself back from the table, Beryl regarded Fili with a little more charity.  
  
“Alright you, now what was so important I had to get up right away?” Beryl asked with concealed humor. Fili was all but dancing in place before her, his entire face alight with whatever he wanted to share. Beryl was tempted to hold him still by his mustache braids just to get a straight answer out of him.  
  
“Come look outside.” Fili said as he dragged her out through the heavy front doors.  There, all around the house, were bear prints.  
  
“It must have been a veritable party out here. Big bears, little bears, some the likes of which I’ve not even heard tales of.” Bofur bent close, his hand near buried to the wrist in one deep impression.  
  
“And the largest of them head back towards the Misty Mountains.” Dwalin pointed, and sure enough, one great track lead straight back towards the mountains they’d barely escaped.  
  
“Now, why would he?” Beryl stopped herself. The answer seemed obvious.  
  
“I do believe, my dear Beryl, that Beorn goes to see for himself whether the tale we told was true or not.” Gandalf looked after the great tracks with a pensive expression. She wondered what else he was thinking to put that look on his face.  
  
“How long will he be gone?” Wren’s question was short and to the point. Beryl knew what was uppermost on her mind. Would they be there long enough for Thorin to travel safely?  
  
“Oh, it will take him quite a few days to get there and back again, and then there is however long he stays there to get the answers he seeks. Thorin’s arm should be ready to travel by then, I’m sure.” Gandalf gave Wren one of those reassuring smiles that so rarely grace his weathered face. Wren simply nodded politely back. An idea struck Beryl. She was perfectly situated to give Wren the time she needed right now.  
  
“Alright, that accounts for one bear, but where did all the others go? Boys, up for some bear tracking?” That was all it took. Beryl only snickered slightly when she found herself sandwiched between Kili and Fili as she was commandeered for their team. Oin called them all daft, and stumped  back to the comfort’s of Beorn’s hall, Dori following right behind him. The rest grouped up by family unit, no surprise. What did surprise her was Bombur’s enthusiastic participation. She almost expected him to join Oin and Dori.  Apparently, Bombur was as good a tracker as he was a cook.  
  
“How else is a Dwarf to ensure the right ingredients for his cookpot?” Bombur laughed, and the rest joined in, leaving Beryl feeling foolish. How, indeed? She cooked just fine with the help of her local market, thank you very much. The Dwarves just laughed the louder when she inevitably shared her thought. Once the merriment died down, they all chose their bear tracks to follow, and they were to meet back in time for the evening meal. Bread and cheese wrapped in clean cloths and waterskins filled at Beorn’s artesian spring would see them through lunchtime nicely.  
  
Beryl was having a marvelous time. Fili and Kili were entertaining company. They were only too proud to show off what woodcraft they had, and what they knew about the different sights they saw. This tree bore fruit fit for a king’s table, this one had bark good for headache, that animal was a good guide to what was edible, that one was edible...and they weren’t above sharing stories that made fun of themselves.  The ones during their earliest days of weapons training were both the funniest and most horrifying. To listen to them, it was a miracle they were still alive. She now understood where a great deal of the grey in Thorin’s hair came from.  
  
They were following the tracks of four bears. They were all extremely long clawed, with one much larger than the other three.  
  
“You do know, it must be just a sow and her cubs, right?” Beryl lifted the vine carelessly and glided through the underbrush beneath it as if it were barely there. Fili and Kili got much less gracefully. Beryl snickered under her breath.  
  
“It could just as likely be a Bull and his harem, you know.” Kili offered, chuckling as Beryl huffed.   
  
“Do bears have harems?” Beryl’s brows furrowed in thought, trying to remember if she’d ever read any such thing before.  
  
“Well, we’ve never seen long clawed tracks like these, either. Who knows how they organize themselves.”  Fili shrugged. “It could just as easily be a sow and her suitors.”  
  
A light went off in Kili’s face, and he drew in a deep breath through the most mischief happy grin Beryl ever saw. “Oh Fili, if it is, do I have the perfect name for her!”  
  
Beryl spotted a stone that fit her hand and skillfully tossed and caught it repeatedly as she glared at Kili. ‘Oh please, do tell.”  Fili laughed as his brother suddenly forgot what the perfect name was.  
  
It was a mother bear and her cubs. They had long curved claws and wormlike tongues in a long muzzle. They found them rolling logs to get into termite mounds, the tongues lapping the termites easily. They’d never seen the like, and watched them for a while, eating their own lunch under a shady rowan.  
  
The trip back was as fun and relaxed as the trip out. Beryl was heartily glad things were back to an even keel with Fili. She had an inkling Kili had more to do with that than he’d ever admit. Anytime things started to get awkward, he’d pop in with some ridiculous story or crack that’d break the ice before it could form properly, and everything was fine and relaxed again.  
  
They made it back well before the others, and sat for a while in the shade, enjoying the late afternoon breezes blowing the combined perfumes from the bee pastures their way. It reminded Beryl of her garden. She saw Gandalf and Wren walking together. They meandered casually among the barely organized flowerbeds. Whatever the wizard had to say to Wren, seemed to have helped, if their body language was anything to go by. Wren occasionally caressed a flowerbud, or bent down to sniff delicately at a particular bloom. It was not the manner of one told bad news. She could only hope for the same outcome when it was her turn to talk to Gandalf.


	36. Cake and Counsels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue chat is had while Wren distracts the dwarves with baking.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: There is a very familiar quote in this chapter, and it's all kkolmakov's idea, as is Wren's dialog. Thank you, my friend, for helping make this chapter happen.
> 
> Image found on Pinterest.  
> 

 

  
  
Beryl stood in the door, taking in the scene before her one last time before heading out with Gandalf’s pie.  Thirteen dwarves were sitting attentively at the long table, eyes firmly fixed on the baking delicacies in the oven, and the busy Wren that was creating magic in the kitchen area.

It started innocently enough.  A bored Thorin was a dangerous Thorin, so Wren had pulled him into the kitchen with her while she baked. His eyes were glued to her dainty form as she danced, sang, and performed culinary magic.  Raw ingredients quickly transformed into baked masterpieces under her ministrations.

Yavanna above, but could Wren bake.  Beorn’s animals filtered slowly into the Hall, drawn by the heavenly scones baking in the rustic oven.  The first ones, cheese, were set before Thorin, though his eyes hardly left Wren as she danced about the prep table, humming a catchy little tune under her breath. Seeing her growing audience, she made a batch of clover biscuits, and another batch of oat and honey scones. That drew in the rest of Beorn’s bestiary. Then The Company came nosing about as Wren’s baking wafted throughout the Hall.

While Wren was prepping the dough for another batch, Beryl sidled up to her, ostensibly to hand her a bowl of saskatoon berries. “I thought you couldn’t housewife?”

“I cannot. This is possibly my one wifely talent. I have never realised it before,” Wren pinched the sides of the next pie plate. “But perhaps it is simply aided by my magic. I am all for modesty, but if you try my baking, you will know what I mean.” Wren pointed at a strawberry rhubarb scone on a plate in front of Beryl. “See for yourself.”

Beryl popped a bite in her mouth, and her eyes nearly crossed as the flavors all but melted on her tongue. ‘Dear mercies, Wren. This alone would win anyone’s undying devotion.”

“Well, I try not to bake for men, Beryl. Who would need some mawkish suitor wandering around in search of my scones?” Wren giggled. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Beryl nearly choked on her bite, as she tried to control her mirth.  Eyes twinkled as she considered a very smitten looking Dwarf watching Wren’s every move. “Though I think you have that one’s devotion even if they tasted like swamp muck.”

“Perhaps,” Wren giggled again. Her eyes darted to the King who was watching her hands move. “But even more so, I would think all of the men here are properly distracted, and if say, you happen to take the pocket pies I hid behind the window curtain and quietly offer one to a wizard, you would have plenty of private time with him.”

Beryl’s mouth formed a delicate ‘o’ as understanding dawned, and then she grinned at her friend. “You are too clever by half. Thank you.” She quickly hugged her friend, grabbed the pies, and headed for the door. One last look at the properly distracted Company, and Beryl was out the door after a wizard.

It didn’t take long to find Gandalf. He was walking along the furthest end of the Bee Pastures, studying the mountain horizon. It was obvious he was watching for Beorn’s return.  “Gandalf, Wren sends a treat.  Thought you might could use a bite out here on your vigil.” Beryl proffered him the pocket pie.

“Ah, thank you, Beryl. Though,” Gandalf gave her a knowing look through his bushy brows as he took the proffered pie. “that’s not the only reason you sought me out.”

“Okay, honestly, how do you two do that?” Beryl shook her head. “Nevermind, that’s not important right now.  Yes, I needed your advice on something. What can you tell me about this? It turns me invisible.” Beryl would never be able to articulate how hard she found it to say those words nor pull that ring out of her pocket. Something did not want her to show Gandalf that ring. However, that something had no idea just how stubborn a Hobbit named Beryl Baggins could be.

Gandalf’s bushy brows rose as he bent over his staff to study the plain band lying innocently in the palm of the Hobbit’s hand. He stood there considering long enough Beryl started to restlessly shift from foot to foot.

“Walk with me, Beryl. Tell me what you know of this ring you’ve found. I’m assuming it was this that allowed you to escape Gollum undetected?”

They walked a long while in the bee pastures, Beryl sharing everything she could from the moment she bumped into the ring in the depths of the mountains to rejoining the Company in the fir copse. Gandalf had since pulled out his pipe to help him think, and was lofting smoke rings on the breeze as he listened, nodded, and hummed in thought.

“To the best of my knowledge, Beryl, you have little to fear from this ring. There were only so many rings of power made. The three uncorrupted rings remain safely with their caretakers, The Nine that corrupted the kings of Men were banished with their cursed bearers. You researched for yourself the fates of the Dwarven rings, and beyond that, Isildur’s Bane is lost to all time. This is most likely one of the lesser rings, a practice ring some smith forged long ago as he learned his craft. I cannot imagine it poses any threat to you.”

“And what about that hissycroaker, Gollum fellow? I know he must have once been a Hobbit, or something like a Hobbit, how did he get that way?” Beryl fiddled with the ends of her vest, twisting them about her fingers as she walked. “Could it have been this ring?” She feared Gandalf was not taking her concerns very seriously. It worried her. Gandalf was never this complacent.

“That is a question to which I’m not sure there is an answer.” Gandalf’s eyes were thoughtful as he once again scanned the horizon for Beorn. “Simply because there are so many possibilities. Even could we ask Gollum, I doubt we could trust any answer he gave. He could be something twisted into being by Sauron, or by the pollution he left behind when he was vanquished. He could have become that way by a curse laid on him, or simply by his own nature asserting itself over time. I doubt any magic ring left in Middle Earth could be responsible for his condition, Beryl. However, if it truly worries you, simply refrain from using it.”  Gandalf looked down, meeting Beryl’s sulky expression with one of gentle humor.

“I’m torn. I don’t want to throw away a useful item, one that could very well be the difference between this quest ending in triumph or tears. At the same time, I’m worried I’m endangering it if i keep an item capable of turning a plain Hobbit into what Gollum was.” Beryl hoped Gandalf actually listened to her worries this time.

“Well, to the best of my knowledge, Beryl, it should be safe enough to use the ring for this quest. Even the powerful rings that created the Nazgul took time to work. In some cases it took decades to wear down their wills.” Gandalf smiled and puffed contentedly on his pipe as the tension finally left Beryl’s shoulders. “Does that help you make your decision in any way?”

Beryl took the ring back out of her pocket, and rolled it between her fingers as she considered her options. “Yes, I think it does, Gandalf. Thank you.”  She pocketed the ring, and concentrated on enjoying the evening air as she walked the bee pastures with Gandalf.


	37. The Last Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beryl is in for a surprise
> 
>   
> Live chess, it's real peoples.

 

It took Beorn two more days to make it back to them, and he was in high spirits when he came. They woke to merry song in a familiar booming voice, and he went so far as to scoop Wren up and swing her around, laughing the entire time. “Killed the Great Goblin himself!” he crowed as he laid a jubilant kiss on her cheek.  It took two more revolutions before he deigned to set her on her feet. Thorin laid a possessive arm around Wren’s waist as soon as she touched down, drawing her back against him, which caused Beorn even further merriment. “Guarding your treasure, eh Dwarf King? Well, this time, you have it a’right. Anyone who can lay low the Great Goblin is well worth the guarding.”

He then led the still sleepy eyed Company outside to display his souvenirs from the Misty Mountains. One was a goblin head on a spike, and the other was a warg pelt stretched between the trees to cure. Beryl was afraid she would disgrace everyone by losing her lunch, and saw a rather green Wren folding herself into Thorin’s side. She noticed the warg’s nose was burnt.  She had to do an old breathing exercise to keep her composure.

“They didn’t feel very chatty. I had to persuade them, but they eventually told me everything I wanted to know. Now, they’ll convince the rest of that pestilence they want to stay in that cursed mountain of theirs.” Beorn’s rolling laughter did little to calm Beryl’s stomach. She was only too glad when Beorn insisted they needed to go back into his Hall to celebrate properly.

An entertained Beorn set a fine table. An ecstatic Beorn set a marvelous feast. It was just as well Beryl’s buttons were gone, because they would have burst at Beorn’s table this day. Clotted cream and juicy pear spears, candied plums, grilled mushrooms, honey drizzled sweet bread and other delicacies Beryl couldn’t find a proper name for passed across her plate and down her gullet with gusto. She was so full, she didn’t want to move.  Of course, that was the exact moment Beorn felt it proper to break out his chess game, which required Beryl to waddle as best she may outside.

His full sized, everyone-participates-as-pieces chessboard was marked out in the grass on the other side of the Hall away from his new gruesome prizes. The sheep served as pawns for both sides. His marvelous horses and dogs served as his court.

Sorting the other side, however, proved slightly problematic.  Assigning the rooks to Dwalin and Gloin seemed natural, as was assigning the knights to Fili and Kili. Balin was a given as a bishop, but Oin, who would have been the other, couldn’t hear well enough, so excused himself from the game.  Dori took a little convincing to step into the spot. Wren had only to ask Thorin once,  and he took the king’s spot with a raised eyebrow and smirk for the healer. Beryl was laughing merrily on the sideline with the rest of the dwarves, until she heard Wren call her to the queen’s square.

“Wait, what? No, that’s your spot.” Beryl started backing towards the house, hands held up in entreaty. Sensing merry mischief in the making, Bofur and Bombur each took an elbow, lifting poor Beryl clear off the ground.

“How, Beryl? I must stand here to see the board clearly.” Wren gestured to the huge stump Beorn had for her, with wide crude steps cut in the side to allow her the same view he had of the board. Beryl heartily cursed Wren’s calm demeanor and reasonable words under her breath. There seemed no rational way out, and she was borne inexorably towards the dread square there by one Thorin Oakenshield. Wren already seemed to harbor some odd ideas. She did not want to in any way encourage them.

 

“No no no no” Beryl chanted under her breath to everyone’s amusement the entire way to the chessboard until the brothers Ur placed her gently next to Thorin on the board. Thankfully, he seemed to regard her placement and abashment with good humor, a rare smile gracing his face.

“Honorable healer, I believe all your pieces are in place, and it is your move.” Thorin made the solemn pronouncement with a grand bow for his lady, and Wren returned it with a graceful curtsy from her stumpy perch. She then considered the chess battlefield before her, and ordered her knight Kili to the fore.

What followed was a comedic battle of wills and Dwarven hilarity. None of the Dwarves would allow Kili to live down his defeat at the hands of a black sheep.  Beryl insisted on commandeering the pony she captured, so she could finally see the board as she traversed it. She was allowed, as she did actually ask the pony in question, and it bobbed it’s head.  Petticoat seemed to enjoy the increased status from mere knight to Queen’s mount. The greyhound sent to menace the castled king seemed reluctant, especially when faced with the  Rook Dwalin. He frisked like a pup when a tap from Balin relieved him of his appointed task.

The mental game finally drew to a close when Beryl and Gloin cornered Beorn in an inescapable trap, and his laughter rolled as he admitted defeat to the Great Goblin slayer. Slaps, congratulations, and other jubilations rolled, but all that faded to silence as Beryl dismounted and turned to a sight certified to chill her blood cold. Thorin, grand, severe, grumpy, and supposedly-over-the-moon-for-Wren Thorin, was on bended knee before her. Beryl would have run, but there was a very solid pony behind her, and she didn’t have a handy quarterstaff to knock Thorin cold and escape that way. She was stuck as firmly as a checkmated king.  When Thorin took her hand gently in both of his, she was near apoplectic.

“Beryl,” the bloody twit was using that baritone rumble in its most velvet tones. Even as horrified as she was, she could feel goosebumps forming from it. “It has been my great honor to have traveled with you thus far. I have been witness to your valor, your cleverness, and recipient of your generosity. I have learned your measure and have been awed by it. Would you do me the honor of... “ Here a great heartrending outcry could be heard, as if the very heart of a young dwarf was being rent from his chest. Beryl was already shaking her head so hard her curls flung free in all directions, casting the defeated pins far and wide. This couldn't be happening, this couldn’t be real. He was supposed to love Wren, and propose to Wren! She nearly missed his closing words in her panic over her best friend’s breaking heart. ‘...becoming my sister-son’s wife?” She stopped herself so suddenly, she tilted a bit.

“What did you say?” Beryl was having a hard time keeping her feet. She felt maybe she’d misheard as well.

“Would you accept Fili’s suit, even though the prat has not yet had wit enough to ask you?”  Thorin’s face was alight with mischief. She could now easily see where the prankster pair got theirs. Beryl allowed herself a moment to collect her own scattered wits, and regarded Thorin’s high humor. He knew very well the scare he had just put her and his nephew through.  Thorin regarded the discombobulated Beryl, and bellowed without losing her gaze. “Fili! Do you not think it time you spoke for yourself?”

From behind a wall of concerned Dwarves, Beryl’s Blonde Scamp finally won free. His expression of unmitigated frustration met Thorin’s cool smirk to no effect. “Spare me your outrages, young one. It would have been a year and a day before you'd have found your resolve to talk to her. Go. Walk with her, I’ll expect to hear the resolution at supper.”  Thorin not unkindly pushed his nephew in Beryl’s general direction. Her mind recovered, regarded her Scamp’s discomfiture with some humor. She took his hesitant hand in hers, and headed for the relative peace of the Bee Pastures.


End file.
